No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
Category: forest
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
unsettled sky—
studying the markings
of bark beetle larvae
bound tight
by a dead leaf—
cleavers
In advance of a flight,
I feel increasingly restless and unmoored.
still nodding
where the fisher broke cover
foamflowers
It staggers me
to think that I owe my existence to the most athletic among a crowd of sperm cells.
