Not quite that Grief is immutable or the windmill trouble turns.
Tracing blunt needles is my new twenty four seven.
Reciprocity and I untied the knot and it was violent, violent.
Worms, the human benchmark, walking their miserable turn.
Spots etched onto your cornea. Make me the wretched sin-eater.
That’s the new stamp and her shift at the post office.