Dream // scorpion crawling // father swaddled in white towel // blue sky clear // terror of dirt // the white of eye // the dirt is black // the black of sun // filling vision
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I am truly blessed. I have fingers.

I have blessed TV dinner fingers that perform the prerecorded act of a cultural vivisection upon a deformed network television hospital drama
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The economy of your desire
Has entered the ice age overnight
Frozen lakes of despair
How long will it take to thaw out
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Somewhere in the world death is wrapped in permafrost, unable to force decay—a place much farther south from here that exists in light, or darkness, in perpetuity.
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The sky vibrates honey and pollen. A series of hexagonal alcoves form across the landscape. The surface of the planet is becoming unrecognizable. Recent swarm murmurations have begun to take on mutative qualities—not in the rapid transformation of their shape but of their composition.
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