the pond’s ice creaks
under her weight
Category: forest
mountain road
the forest within a forest
of porcupine quills
ancestral masks
the eyes go back
to being shadows
I dreamed the angel of death was a bland functionary
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
In a dream, I extricate myself from your embrace
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
I dream I’m possessed by a demon who gives me seizures.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
it’s not winter
it’s white springtime
#fakenews
As the green drains from the leaves,
why doesn’t it pool underground
like a reservoir of eternal summer?
I dreamed I was at a picnic table across from Donald Trump.
But he wasn’t president, just a racist old relative with appalling fashion sense, and everyone else was pretending he didn’t exist.
Every autumn
I’m impressed anew by the sheer inventiveness of death.
The rain comes hammering on the plush roof of the earth.
on the plush roof of the earth. After a while, it opens one by one its mush rooms.
Four months away
even the full moon isn’t
where I left it
