August is National Poetry Month!

How The Troll Measures Time
compliments Lindsay Anderberg

I have a tent made out of placenta.
I call it my "platenta,"
and when my lazy third eye
feels like wandering
around this storm,
I can crawl inside
and take the ride
less taken, the one
where the shiny waxy liquid
candy spreads thinly
across my head
and hardens to a neat
red mold of my brain.

Whatever you call it --
call it "sunset," call it
"cotton," call it "feeling
the muscles in your ankles
before they're warm,"
it'll make perfect sense;
it'll be one more afternoon.