Based in the bayou. Launched from the levee. Leftovers are we. 


May, this year

May, this year

For this, I have set myself on fire

Because I dared not set to simmer

The hot luxurious lust, in boil

As the petal flies paled dull and dimmer

I sank below, took teeth to soil.

Here, the tight-lipped frost would weave

Its lattice over spanish moss

Patient, i would watch you leave

And mourn the mellow scent of loss

Across blue willows cracking cold

Whose roots curl at the touch

Of rotting summer fruits of old

In frozen tombs below the mulch

Which bursting to bleed out their sweet

Liquor, for these seeds to swallow

I would hide and watch you eat

The poison that has carved you hollow.

When this tear in time, suspended

Curls into itself at last

The drip of this scorpion moon upended

Will bind us strong against the fleeting fast.



Finite Weapons

Finite Weapons