Sinisters are solace

Silence is alabaster

The creeps roam the roads at night

I see headlights that pierce the warm fog

Guttural engines, high beams, red eyes

The steam of a summer day, from the narrows it rises

Like snakes on bellies, ravens in the window, vultures perched on hay loft metal wanderings

Babes that begin with J

Her scent lingers like toast or English muffins

In a breakfast nookery, the cookery, clay cast by broken hands

Milk is here, melk is there, across the oceans we number

The maps we draw, the lines we force, the people we cage

Cultural imprisonment, the other side of a jackass wall

Taos and Laos, hybrid honcho burritos and fish stew

The words a jumbled Azio mess on a hot plate

Sometimes stupid stories are merely stupid stories

Binary therapy in a terrarium

An aquarium

Sometimes I just like to look at fish.

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