ant5

twin mist lit

meet she briefly

I never the Sun

in the curve in

the glass the sliding

bubble stops

he asks if bananas used to be tarantulas

deep in the river a tiny moth leaves my head

lost in thought

I become covered

in flies

pine cones hang like

the cocks of men who stand up

too quickly after making love

gazing on

her sleeping back

sounds of rain

forked lightening

out over the ocean

her warm fingers

evening breeze

a white moth floating

in the dishwater

pear slice falling

to the kitchen floor

pale moonlight

sick transit Gloria Monday

a query from

the agent about

my defects

when my wife says

what about me I tell her

they’re about nobody