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lichen
my growth is stunted by seasons that collapse like lungs choking on soggy air drowning in and upon and at the hands of myself
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Nancy
Nancy bought kitchenware obsessively little rows of silver she’d polish until she could see right through x-ray her own liver
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Obituary
I hate Sundays the way that Christians might hate God; almost fictional in their magnitude.
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skin on the line
washing day: the bimonthly emptying of pockets- warm swells of detergent- Sweet steam room damp.
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i’ve never liked summer
When it is empty again And the summer sun looms, Gloomy and oppressive, Promise to wait.
