memento mori

on a windy day secret creatures roll out to the streets to play, careless of oncoming traffic that illuminate the hill, and strike my mirage broken. the streets are still lonely and there are still only dead leaves, not creatures tumbling dry on broken pavement. the wind rocks me over warning lines that shake me… Continue reading memento mori


the sun set trees on fire, releasing dying embers, pirouettes in the wind. i count them, like i count the minutes until the day ends, like i will count the dust on that last day, when i can look up a final time from underneath it all. there are no faces above me tonight. just… Continue reading fall

the cycle

it is a fact that the grass is much greener where you water it, yet while these stiff blades craved a flood the salty waterworks provided a temporary wonder until the salt reached its roots and stung my tongue, licking long lost wounds a reminder— the grass that is dead can yet still be watered