Eleven empty seats. Two taken.
Deserted classrooms and a sliver of a moon.
Drowned worms in cracks.
Teeth grinding in soil.
A kiss mark with parentheses.
A grey haired man with the top of his convertible down
and a huge smile across his face.
A spoon sits next to me on the bus.
Roll me around on your tongue and spit me out.
Remnants of lipstick on a glass.
A new and spontaneous love for skeletons.
Leaves tremble, anticipating the fall.
Swing toward the sun
when plastic glints like diamonds.
Homes over hills / hills over homes.
Step into the swamp and sink into muck.
Detach, detach, detach.
Pulsating corners, pores in the walls.
Cook the sun until it turns cold.
Illuminated corpses.
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