you heard me correctly darling when i said i was
going camping in the witherness. look in this bag i’ve already
packed sun strokes, swill trunks, an array of emptying
books and a flashlight that projects white moving dogs.
in the witherness, we stack silent burning gavels, achieving
the balance of a permanent new moon. we are arriving
by cheap chernobyl trucks and we’ll know when we’re there when
the engine dies and we open the hood to find a blanket-less
girl. don’t worry, she is environmental. made of mist.
we stomp on her sisters, **** like holy anorexics,
steady our foreheads on the ancient bark of
the witherness (dark hallways in a house of leaves)
Quiet now. lay your spine on eggshells so that your joints
may hatch asterisk chirp double asterisk something
akin to what asteroids do, but with a murmuring whistle
the only noise you can hear at the edge of the witherness.
— The End —