outside, it smelled of canned peaches,
and i knew the world was fertile again,
or i was fertile.
no one is more boundless ,
simply surviving a passage of time.
intimate nothing from gazes encountered,
no loss, and no redemption.

i’ve been standing at a folded alter for four years,
laundered, stiff white collars in iron maiden

pin ****** cascade,
it’ll be just the tip.
lol.

someone once told you to cover the bedroom mirrors before sleeping,
they’ll drain you of life by morning otherwise.
maybe it was the gourds. the ones that looked like birdhouses,
eye-socket pools gouged into dormant skin,
or you think it’s dormant.
you never assume your vegetables to be predatory.

i only ever feel most like myself in the mornings, immediately after waking,
and around 6:00 pm after i’ve peeled off my face.