

Lock Picks and Rocks We broke into the old apartmentLock Picks and Rocks by ~emothemurdok
to look for things we'd lost when moving on
and moving out, across the street
and sixteen cities South. I tried to take
the poems from the windows but memories
are more permanent than marker. Mornings
seemed longer when sunrise wrote words
on bare walls and bare skin, or when
I traced end-rhymes and metaphors into the curve
of your hips.
These days we don't sleep.
and I couldn't find them; instead
we found furniture that spelled apathy
and wrong words on right angles, organized
and dead. They painted over
our names curled above the bedroom, they washed
the windows with writer's block and fi