stumbling over words

[embers]

she says Imagine

that god is the field beneath us,
and the trees are his angels -

(i pray to them, you know,
wrap myself around the bark like vines,
each of my thousand fingers curls to catch each twig.
but on bad days i am poison ivy
and my fingernails are nettles,
my long torso is tied in knots and clumps
like my hung over hair.)

- or Suppose

that love is a recluse and a painter,
and hate is his morbid self critic -

(i'm a painter too, you know,
my brush screeches up at me
as if to say breathe me, breathe me!
but on bad days i am a smoker
whose lungs wither like untended plants,
my tongue is tied in knots and clumps
that deep breaths can't unseam.)

drunk, i watch her Muse drift from her tongue
to tickle the trees nearby