ant5

A few new tricks up my sleeve the card marked death

Finishing the suicide notes like I had forgotten

Wishing I could leave empty handed squid

When the wind howls it howls fully erect

Shooting down the door to door salesman

the sound you hear

like lapsing handles

or a vast propeller

turning in a church

is lichen moving

in waves over rocks

Deep inside the trance music my father burnt and buried

It was you who suggested biting snow in my pocket

Your face is still the flame put out my eyes

Just when I think I can’t keep imagining your ghost