a tangled nest of birds
in a nightgown
a slip of a strap please
give it a pull
off my shoulder
a hedge of quills, undone
like when i stood near the wall dreading
no one would ask me to dance
and then he did, my broken egg
the scent of a baby goat
a gentle fern in black underwear
gulping from a garden
of carnations
the kisses made in my mind, the tail
of a thread
moving further from
the seam
Alex Thayer is a writer living in Boston. Previous jobs include: actress in TV and film, teacher, waitress, cat sitter, coffee barista, sports radio intern, and bunny face maker.