this fragile midnight
its rich veins of blood
let a tooth take root
in a soft skull
at the end of the earth
this very crescent
a high C
guttering in a puddle
or lodged like an eyelash
under your island
at another end of the earth
a drone army
firing tree seeds
into clearcut mountains
if you have a price
you’re not a prophet
go self-censor
for the bathroom mirror
between sleeps
knowing they no longer knock
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES