First Night

Lithe voices glide like spirits in mist short words spoken close. Closed mouths tight lips give way to sentences, vines outstretched tendrils grasping rich air ...

On the Bridge

On the land I lived I’d built a bridge and there returned. I stood on planks and logs of wood, hammered still with time, and looked to find the world less green...

machine

what does it taste like to be part of a machine does it taste oily like lubricants industrial and viscous or sweet illusion give way give way to bitter aftertas...