perhaps something is ending.
two lone waves break into blue mouths;
laughable, like the taste of farthings stuck
under cold boots. miles away, the moon
pours herself bonfire whiskey. dead constellations
need no mourning, no chalices filled with inebriated
in this magnanimous womb, nothing smells like
nothing; glass bones steeped in rosewater.
early dawn bathed in red, a ghost town so very in love
with silver lights, car crashes, two gunshots and a
no words collapse into this beam of emptiness
and today, it will almost be autumn. it will
cling to detached hearts. it will dance at
inconspicuous corners. it will shrivel.
it will die today. it will die today.
it will die
are there too many small dreams? you wide-eyed nightmare, love will not knock at your rib-cage. love will burn steel bridges.