February 27, 2026

February 27, 2026 #1

Almost down the way

Almost almost it is almost the way

It sticks to clicking heels and it sticks so long 

So long ago was it stuck as the chatter as the rain

Brevity stole the ancient from the seabed

It locked the last look of a rose 

A brave and sharply tricked medallion proves blisters

Pronounce the moon.

Jasperite, a strangling hair, so soft, yes, so soft that it strangles me

A fair strike of yellow of luggage at the back wall and I am green and loaded and covered in phosphorus

Angle me toward the overlasting onion in disrepair or do not haggle over wrenches and wrists

Bedposts crippled copper hand made fist a home a hand ago alone

Ill glow

Indignant indigo

Sister ferry fox hunter

Parchment thirsty in stained mahogany

Lit last like the lark aflame

A wax tongue garment I named and forgot

Here to last here to no longer last

February 27, 2026 #2

The glaze of bullets stood us well under our wine,

As we opaquely grip for the grip we grip for, gripping, we

Have with stalemost feeling, a breeze around our kneecaps.

The dog’s wind reveals its paw to me and I sense its snare

And its drum beneath the log over there, it is over there, I think

And I think it is, I am right.

A cloud wrote to me of spines and spindles, the pressure we wore

As aprons had nothing for the dead weeds’ tales. Hazily, we etch the encounter undersea, you and I, you with mouthfuls of straw and tenderness, I marching across plastic overstories, the lasting flogging together, we bound ourselves and never neglected the arching bow of rain scattering the fingers of the plain upon our drying faces.

Organlike, her sound brings newness to the inevitable in my chest.