Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

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

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

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

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

I myself should never have been born

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.