we are that longrunning society of graverobbers
and with every stitch,we all amalgamate true horrors out of eachother .emboldening the regurgitated fears of the dead and thedying.the salted roads,crisp up the cold and crystalline paths forward .beside your dehydrated, astronaut-food smile_and (never)dog-mother eyes
.i am the patina over all creased things
.i am the creases

by the stories it’s people tell of the
past

from dishes and the dry air
as the light upon the world brightens:
so too, the shadows starken

take care of your things .

on the authority of an open window to the driving rain .
dog heads stuck out and
biting at the
drops .

i am not that kite

the road is blocked.
[temperature readout not responding]

foggy, light mist.
the upturned vehicle lays quietly under its long woven blanket of moss.the discarded mantle of each season’s worth of canopy cover_
restful,
like one single ***** glass left behind in the kitchen sink of a foreclosed family home .
violent, like the passage of time.

she’s steps out across the gravel in front of me,
crossing past my left shoulder’s grazing shove :
kneels down
and grabs at my belt.