A sideswiped stop sign’s crusted paint
Crumbled in the air, divided by two,
Under a wet paintbrush speckle of skyline soot
Becomes an unwanted body,
Unrolled ribbon of shock.
Elastic lanternfly, a throbbing patch on a needle
Sewn to a spot without a hole, pulled back and forth
In a slingshot’s arc through a cartoon skull
With every squish ending, tattling on wings
And I feel bad despite the damage
Hoping I will stay more handsome than
Imagined limits of fondness
As I’m limping in my red faux fur across the scrolling grid
Blocking sweat-blurred numbers that never thought
We ever hurt each other. Talking again is just folding prions,
Nuclear paper airplanes crashing through my cautious habitat
Like we just went out. You know, the other day?
“I can’t make it” squats in the dustbin. I didn’t spend a word
That wasn’t twisted from a grimace in months,
Keeping a lost world’s contagious peace.
There was enough of me nursing nightlife scratches in your scrapbook
Through every flawless hunch you threw out

…
Noll Griffin is a visual artist, writer, and musician based in Berlin, Germany. His poetry has appeared in The Purposeful Mayonnaise, The Wild Word, and Reap Thrill among others and his first chapbook titled “Tourist Info” is available through Alien Buddha Press. You can find him on Instagram at @nollprints or on Tumblr/Twitter/Bluesky under @nollthere.