Time, like the suncan flow through a tainted clarity — the settled dust of settings past,upon the windows of attentionand opportunity.
Fairy bread for late breakfast — sugared butter;white bread, candy stickywith clinging ants, red
The road unwinds, todaywith promises of red ribbon premonitions.
Name a price and you might find itunder the quake of the tilting streetlights;through the aged, lanterned hallsof reflections and spite.
We work our bodies into adaptation...Bones against spade, muscles against troweluntil ossification hardens our shells;a rigor that readies us…
Inertia hovers, rectangularover my bed and yet the grave is not deep enoughto crush the fat from my head
Lean in for the kiss,but wear the bite.
Keep your headwith all its contents,
Wake with the weight of water;an ocean’s breadth of brine —