Soft static reaches her fronds toward an insatiable earth. Growth is a capricious master. I lick the salt from the rim. I lick the luck. Ferocious, fecund februaries try desperately to mate with the various Mays and Junes in my autobiography. My book of life written in rose for an audience no one knows. Snow can not long fellowship with sun and her recalcitrant rays. On the farm in my mother’s diary, sheep raising men.
Day: November 19, 2024
Cavorting in Dentists’ Offices
The simple, timeless horrors of self awareness and awareness of others remind me to dress in my dreams. All the nude cavorting in dentists offices is uncalled for. Spiritually, I am 3 feet tall. In the pines of Georgia, sobriety coveting a sandwich eaten by a girl with an old name. Falsify your eyes and leak past the guards of this temple of industry and consumption. What velveteen briars invest in the salted soil of your skin?
My Blue Heart
Daylight drains sanguine in tubes like a corpse’s emissions at the morgue. I will not be so easy for him to break, I say as I gnaw on my bespoke hands. Above the stairwell of my blue heart, a portrait of Dorian Gray, aging like archeology.
Miniature Moon 