1.19.2016

Antecubital

Pocketbook
in the crook of my elbow
collects memories
like renzuru
conjoined against headwinds
tucked in the bend

There’s room for regrets
melancholy musings
all my origin stories
stacked up like displays
of rakes or greeting cards

This little pouch is new
and I hate how it looks
opaque
paper-thin
even while appreciating
its utility in sullen times