“how are you”—not a question, really. not a worry for the light or shadow on your face, not a wondering of what fragrance your mood wears...

Half past one, Somewhere in between night and dawn and morning Breeze is slipping through the window But also infrequent rattle of cars...

she is behind a camera in the printed photo, a baby laughs their dark pupils gaze across the lens, across the flash a teeth-showing smile...

i like blank spaces little letters line up behind each other they don’t fill, they sit down for a while take a breath, then leave again...

plastic straws stuck up nostrils mask strings tangled around ankles hooves stepping on own shit feathers bleeded crimson, as flesh crush...

hope spring comes summer goes fall comes winter goes hope they go never go leave stay it feels uncomfortable to sit somewhere in between...

Spring was supposedly the time when everything woke up, from the yawns of furry mammals to tiny green sprouts, from the earlier office...