one way out

in the dregs
at the bottom
of every teacup

she said
--only artists and mystics,
--need not be bashful

But in their festival of foreplay
even the most unique and most holy
find only one way out.

bodies drawn apart by whispers

don't remember what they lost

flat-earthers

stories are empty,
rage is ineffectual,
identity unstable.

what’s ugly?
what’s pretty?
what’s empty?

...oh, but how they move,
like the earth was flat,
and life was forever.

counterfeit

i do not matter

your skirt

your slave

the ancient part of me was young

basecamp

this igloo was once a paradise

isolation kept in the warmth

until the glacier shattered
and filaments of ice infected everything

now this hearth is cold as a ghost

now only the echo of movement remains

maybe

i am the grinning keeper of frozen graves

maybe

if we lay together against the frost

we could survive by the heat of our hearts alone

surprised to find

wisdom under a pillow,

like a discarded tooth;

unwavering love

and fragile truth.

...

blanket of sunsets, moonlit owls, and strawberry waffles.

proof that flowers can bloom in a barren world.