August 29

Worms create veins and capillaries in the earth, prolong resistance, mirror elegance, and yet they are easy to ignore.

For two years, maybe three, the same dance occurs underground: weaving channels, intersections, points of frustration.

Make room for more earth, no stopping. At least air is part of the mission, life cradled in cynical wonder, blind faith coddled, coded, in patterns.

Sunday at the Twilight Diner

don't mind me
coffee refills, chunks of sugar

that won't dissolve like
gaps in the timeline

mediating soundscapes
how they influence flavor

and how they press themselves into

the corners of my mouth

no change for a twenty
no change for a year
feasting on the night
dissolving

the gaps in my memory




you leave crumbs on the placemat
I wipe mine clean
absent nostalgia, like narratives
pieced together
breaks in conversation