Everything we think to do, we do.  

        I told you I brewed up a fire, I set the sidewalk boiling, and soon all the cement
panels were askew.

        I actually don't care for your flowers, they're not ribbons at all, and I don't like to think of
a sea of privates agog around me.

        Who says we feel more than the wind in our uppermost, we look through our roots,
we crowd into dirt as hard as rock and uplift skeletons.

        It’s an imposition to bring myself to meet the springy bulges of your staring,
your recognition.  

        So are you going to save me?    

        Let's not glorify the outdoors anymore, it wouldn't be so bad to live inside
a well-windowed house.

        I have felt so much with these crusts.

        The shadows of your neighbors look much like your own:  admit it.


Ginger Ko studies at the University of Wyoming’s MFA in Creative Writing program.  Her poetry and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in Anti-, TYPO, and HTMLGIANT. She is originally from Los Angeles.