the monster inside of me

I can taste the thing that is tasting me.

a stagehand’s farewell

what did Puck say? what was it...? more yielding... yielding... to dream.

a minute to not breathe

Orbs of air, like weightless quicksilver, slide from my nose as I roll to my back.

dying in a land that was always strange

The wind will be all that matters.  And the rain, too.

love in the time of death

... Death has begun to grip even me with its own arms, its own skeletal wrists bejeweled with anger and contempt.

meaning of the word knowing the meaning, i might control it.

in creases

There is a crease in my sleeve... what does it prophecy?

bus to somewhere else

There is a symmetry in odd places.

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