there is only one
flickering lightbulb
separating this world
from the next

the struggling light
can only touch
the infinite jars
of red kompot

and the worn rifle
propped against the bricks.
it is dusty.
it has been too peaceful.

a spider hunts
her next meal
but instead finds herself
thrown around in time.

what decade is it, again?
in this dim light,
every photo looks like
it is in black and white.