Andi Leigh Writes

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Strung Bizarre

on April 22, 2024

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A web in nettle gives a ring.

A home where moths

Mistakingly cling.

Though dear spider lurks

Not so far—dewdrops

And blood are strung bizarre.

busy like blue lavender

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Checker Piece

There is a checker piece Lost on a chessboard, Playing a game it'll Never properly win, But it refuses to concede With confidence That it'll remain there Amongst the kings that Pertain to the goings-on Of the board.

Start Graying

There is a split in the ocean. There is a bee in my chest. I wonder when I'll start graying Since I always seem so stressed. There is a meal left out cold. There are no answers to this test. I constantly worry about the future, Wondering what will be next. There is a secret amongst them. There are too many oppressed. I don't think we'll be able to fix it. We all just seem to crave rest.

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What to do when there’s no sound. Not a drop of music in the air. Crystal clear void, stuffed in my ears. Restless worries don’t make good company. Yearning for a pin to drop, Causing an uproar in vacant space. Without even the hum from spinning blades, I tap my fingertips on marble to pass the time.

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