The hammer falls where it will— the very young, the very old, their pearl-gray skin. Wind moves like a great hand, and a mirror
Those rising gods of cloud, possum-belly cream and white, that roadkill brightness (winnowed by rod & cone) I take like tea: necessary enactment of
How she wants the pleasure of the comb in autumn, brimmed with clover drops, a whole season of frenzy sated by the taste of