Inflection
why won't you just
listen? I've already given
everything—there are no
bonus tracks; my voice
is hoarse from singing you
lullabies and now I simply
shout. The canvas is carved
up, warping under the weight
of acrylic paints (a canyon
strung up in your head): wait
for the echoes. I'm no
canary, you can't stroke
my neck and strangle out
a chirp. Didn't you hear
my cage fall apart?