blank thoughts,
wolfish, mist,
collected stars
make maws of us.

“High and Low”

reed-loved wrists
host twisting hands,
shaded in twitches.

point the teeth,
mawing too and fro.

mutter hyphenated
godly names, where
kingdoms had collided.


splitting pages into fragmented
description of broken things,
cracks run vein-like over
every face and surface
but they act unblemished,
flashing white teethy smiles
while their face bursts
into a thousand void-like cracks
spitting nebulae over pale skin.


scent sweeping outward
emblazoned by dimness

deep inward breaths breath
all the life out of this little cup
drawing souls of tiny purple plants
into my dragon-starved stomach
gold lined and treasure hungry.

steaming tea like smoke curls
upward past my flaring nostrils
and beast-like pointed teeth.