A cacophony of stars burns in their vast, black blankey of existential dread. Skiers on the alpine slopes of my frosty mind are frequently eaten by snowmen. My home is a craggy, coastal, creaking thing. Feasting on the spectral color palette of righteous ghosts, my famished feelings decide to starve another time. I wash up on the shore twice a day, a tide of cornerless flesh and eerie suppositions of drowning. Daugnter of sea, sister of the lobsters around the world all boiling at once, friend of vicious bunnies. My name is erased by the storms that blister our hands and hearts.
Miniature Moon 