Draft, 7/17/17

Your Mother, Hiding Behind Her Hand shining like a fawn at the subway stop your palm right here/on my neck inside you white irises in a plastic vase talk softly the numbers shift/flow like the poison burning cursive on my calves lucky charms and milk spill from the gold of your teeth

So the 30/30 challenge is over, but I might be posting drafts of poems here, and then taking them down when I want to submit them for publication. So I have a lot of visitors from Russia, China and the Netherlands! Please introduce yourself in the comments and tell me how you got to this blog. Can you read English? Is it totally random? Let me know. Here's a new collage to entertain you.