Moth wings at my feet I feel like I’ve swallowed icicles
Circles circles
Ahhh yes I curl back up on the highest shelf and glance at it
in my tear ducts as I go about my day.

A rusted automaton covered in ivy
shakes off debris and thatch as it rises, into the sky.
I’ve never seen it before but its iron wings
bar the sun and I know to plant the carrots now
the painting completes itself

I find comfort in
chomping arsenic,
frightening girls and
hiding garlic under my pillowcase.
I smiled at a cashier today,
gave him my face by accident.

Swirling the muddy imprint, your
finger slips past a divot from my elbow joint.
One day here will stand a woman who spoke to
a man, who thought of her as he got hit by
a delivery driver.
And later lilies will cluster around the barred shop
quasi-eternal concrete smelling of coffee.