Do you remember? I can’t quite recall

The damp drafts of crab

Apple spring that would know me over and over and over and over again


Still sniffing at every wet blooming rag I can get my hands

Are no good to me anymore

Let me lie in July’s garden

With a bowl of fresh wind

A jar of nectar

I want to return to the flowers

Let me come home to the flowers

To loosen every bond

In my body my music

Box brain unwinding itself to silence

And I will know pain no longer




For My Grandmother Margaret

Surprise me...


in early summer we weep with our windows wide open

like the train plowing a path with the width of the sound of its horn

through the green air of river valleys


so too do we scream

as love-bonds are ripped apart


perhaps good fortune drifts down upon you

like the fragrance of linden blossoms at high noon

and you’re soft with yourself

resting in a deeper peace on account of your solitude

then this is not for you


this is for those who have found no sanctuary

those walking on with open wounds wondering how much blood they have left to give

wondering whose mouth will be their gauze

their siphon to suck out the poison and spit it to the curb

to those who have felt fused to another only to be ripped apart and left


a ragged hole in the hull of their life

all buoyancy gone

no shelter from the depths

taking on water and sinking to where light does not reach


I can only say it will be ok

you can learn to swim






Mikaylo Tairiku Kelly enjoys experiencing the edges of things: exploring definition, identity, boundaries, and their functions. You can find them sowing seeds, looking through lenses, feeling all the feels, and getting down at your local function.





Copyright belongs to the creator. .


Surprise me...
Surprise me...



Surprise me...


Surprise me...