Ache, Panache

I am sick, I can't be trusted.
This is weariness, not bravery.
I am not long or flame
or hollyhock (thank you) vanilla.
I am almost ready to try anything
I am almost
I am green beneath the skin,
green in the neck,
pigeon.

Black sift, milk cloud needle
under Sand Dunes,
too soon to say it is,
it is,
it is not quite
like anything blue,
like anything that sits quiet
and I am awake.