cold
sordid, alone
sour milk
I spill and swim in
summer aestus
as kind as they've been
smiles, sharp
glasgow
sin
don't touch me
the dream, gone
the deed, foreborne
the viceroy and its mimicry
wilt, milk thistle
to milkweed's thief
bloodflower
and antelope horns
strike the ear
of my fresh reprise
overwintered, ignorant
surely, somewhere, in the thick of it
the monarch swings
and the monarch strikes
two ends meet
for a sharp excise
galvanize the girl to grow
let whatever you speak stoke
paltering
preying
perusing me
of whatever deficit
×
hammers
to the black vein