In the gold, twilight wilderness of my ambitions, aspen trees grow. Birch trees grow. Black eyes beaming out of flaking white casing, leaves as yellow as orgasms. The hills are humongous and roll up and down with my psyche. By the burlesque pond, my skin shining in the sun from beneath my judgmental shroud. The shore is fundamentally erotic. An electrical storm in my kitchen cooks lasagna and lights my breath up with pink flame. In my eyes, the reflection of an overtaxed, underrepresented ghost. I will climb trees and wait for my inner child to float back to me.
Day: March 23, 2026
On Aquidneck Island
In the verdant, sylph like morning, my younger self dreams. On Aquidneck Island, a sea monster eating Ma’s Doughnuts. Just the doughnuts. Ma smokes soft, salty dreams in the back while she bakes in love in every bite. My hunger is a form of weeping. The hole in me changes shape, being made of wind and sea. Wine dark, my thoughts creep over the hill and into the soft, lush grass of the sleepy old battlefield. My older self is a shadow among the birch trees, watching little me tenderly as she builds her boat. She will set sail under the negligent moon.
Broken Teeth and U Shaped Smiles
On the underside of a horror story, my ghosts crawl along the walls to the dayglo exit. Reality is a bitter elixir that suits their broken teeth and U shaped smiles. Math drinks absinthe in the corner, telling stories of the world’s end. The universe will end not in a bang, but in a whisper. One soft plea for togetherness after the stars have pulled themselves into dank regions of brutal isolation. My ghosts are ride or die. I will ride with them or they’ll stitch my name in nightfall and feed me to the remnants of demonic empires.
Miniature Moon 