ant5

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machine silence

the closest stars

seem like planets

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in the dark lobby

the rain blows

through the crooked door

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he howls

for scraps the cat

with the ruined eye

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a gray heat

sticks to

the top of the hill

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from one neighborhood

to the next

burn piles

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the food

we agreed upon

grows cold

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we distract

ourselves

in separate rooms

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the time of year

you only see the goats

in the dark

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a crevice

in the table where

the whiskers wind up

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the drippings

burn but soon

dissipate

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