sweating through the longest day of the year
tentacles of ice
beside the spring
I forget where I am
finding a dead leaf
to wipe my brow
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
I’m impressed anew by the sheer inventiveness of death.
on the plush roof of the earth. After a while, it opens one by one its mush rooms.
you no longer have to wonder whether her scent is meant for you.
You won’t believe what happened next.
it sends headline writers into hyperdrive. To some, the black hole is predatory; to others, the star is insane. But what if it’s love?
I crush another cathedral
with every step
muzzle swiveling to catch