I love rooms with natural light
And open windows
September mornings
When the air is cold and dense
And clean like running water
Running water fills the room
And washes it.
Above the town things
Start to stir
And cars, few, run on
The things that I love in life are few,
too.

I named her rayo
and in the mornings
carrying firewood
she walked beneath the trees
and never knew

I used to live near the train
It would come rattling in the darkness
like a wall, like a walking sledgehammer
like a guest knock knock knocking
with the slowness and inevitability of a flood
a steel flood
an iron ghost
flooding the room
shafts of light marching through the darkness
where to? who knows
always marching along
but you would never guess it was there
the grass by the tracks was somehow matted with dew
in the morning as if fairies had
come

it’s sunny as hell out
but it has that rainy day feeling
I wish it were cold out and I was warm
but it’s hot as hell out
and I’m cold

you can hear the cicadas
you can feel the sun
it's warm and it's cold
glasses set out on the table
make the light sparkle and distort
and you can hear him outside
building that wall and that ditch
he really has no care for the cats
he wouldn't care if they were hit
you see him reading with
his pile of newspapers
at night
falling asleep
he's been joking about life insurance
and dying
maybe that will save us
he says

the yellow air before a summer storm
the bright light behind the houses on the bridge in the morning
listen to the world work its jaws by your ear
do not hear. just listen

the empty rooms are stuffy and filled with dread
like a fruit sitting in the sun
and bright and dark all at the same time
like a fallen fruit swarming with ants
like the inside of a bomb
the doughtnut-shaped spaceship they found in A L I E N
or as simple as a reminder
a post-it note taped to the wall
with a dead friend’s phone number written on it

a house filled with light
an all-natural light sponge
a must odour
feel it on your back
smell the carpet
smell it like kindling

like a fruit sitting in the sun
heavy and full of dread
smell it, almost overripe
it may not taste good now, but
you have to eat it before it goes bad

sell that ******* house

a few
moths beat
quickly gently
against the
bright light
lost at the
end of the
dark street
end of the
world
goes out