Electric Breezes Inside the laptop is a quiet world that soaks through my hands and fills me with birds. Here someone is whisper-screaming along to every movie and song. Pennies seep down underwater one after another in necklaced rows. And there is always a petaled hand reached out to hold. How You Are I see someone on the subway, or crouched onstage or dangling their feet off a bridge, and they have skin that is nothing more than skin and they are held on the tongue of a perfect sky. And I want to say, tell me how you did that but I know they don't even know what they did.
Aleph Altman-Mills is an autistic writer who collects acorns and likes to buy books other people have already written on. She has been published in The Legendary. She blogs and posts poetry snippets at really-fucking-confused.tumblr.com; poetry prompts are at darlingghosts.tumblr.com.