August 1 2024
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.