Seeing through a window darkly, I observe a cloud killing his coolness and I say nothing. The last time I dropped a mirror I saw my essence in a myriad of fragments, and I wept. Cover the house in shrouds. I cannot narrate my life to this typist in a clown suit while seeing inside my tears.
Day: April 24, 2026
Lame Shadows Limp
The lame shadows limp in the apricity of a well worn January afternoon. My after thoughts are too big for your seismic detectors. I sell seashells by the seashore, and you better believe I make a profit. Behind the green screen of life, a ghost of a woman with eroding teeth.
Specially Designed Paper Airplanes For Bats
The fountain of fire flows through my hemispheres of storms and femininity. The light shining from my eyes has one brightness setting – supernova – and even the air sizzles with the static flowing from my bountiful word garden on the back porch. On the walls of this acorn, paintings of death doing gymnastics. My portfolio includes specially designed paper airplanes for bats, graphic misrepresentation of the intent of those clouds over there, and some semiannual irresponsibility.
Miniature Moon 