oh fisherfarm diabolous. poem.

miles over the root beam
were the sandcreepers
and the road bird,
verdigreen,
squashed under tire racks

through the eye. poem

aiming. Serotonin burger for the gills, push meat in between the sills. Planet made of light, I tell you, thinking of the thin king who rules my 15 hearts.

chew kin. poem

Silk wrapped around a handle, in the wild mint sprigs of a satellite’s eye cracking sound. little itty bitty spark makes the sweet sweat smell. freshly bound. and out thirteen weeks now. have you calcified a new disc yet? disc. digital ingestion of stored cubits. like licking the shiny bits.