it beats, an urgent stranger at the door, / knocking
this is for you, / little wee thing of ears, wee body of mouth / this burden is for you the better to hear the better to shout / this is for you
The mathematical lie is x / / My problem can’t be solved / for treasure or emptiness / much less a number / that wobbles on a cliff
I meant to weave a nest today, / to replicate the spider's web / with floss or something runnable / through teeth.
How the house sighed, air brim with old wood, paint, and coffee spilling from around the parlor‘s paired doors as I swung them closed, slowing before they smacked the jamb so not to rattle the jaundiced panes or disrupt the furniture we had force-fed the room—
We broke up with acrimony / but the problem wasn't us. / Self-appointed middlemen / complicated our relationship
The sea squirt is born with a primitive brain and one eye. It cruises the ocean, and when it finds a surface to fasten to, the squirt eats its own eye and brain. Without movement, it no longer needs them.
We waved goodbye to our fellow pilgrims as they boarded the bus bound for holy sites and, if lucky, glimpses of the pope. Peter and I walked back towards the house. All the while, eerie tendrils of cloud slid upwards, slowly releasing the village of Bienkowka.
