Let it flail,, let it bite down.

Cloned and left on the couch,

while the other half one went out for errands,

for seconds.

Snippets and fragments of haikus left behind, like half drunk milkshakes,

a flurry, and we’re milk, after being exposed to the sun

turned backwards,

after being exposed to the sun

I am dizzy just holding my head up, carrying it like a sword.

Looking down, and not even keeping track of what was in the mailbox,

Let that sink in.

We’re milk; we’re flailing,

carrying all that weight and those sounds like a sword ,

growing right from where you left off,

not really sure if cursive is the way to go out, to sign off,

or if the answer is silence,

or silence.