Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

I am still waiting for the lion

Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

The sin is existing.

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.