CROWED

CROWED

cast your stomach into
the river, augur, let

the current carry away
the smoke, sweet and
skullsick, your

legs only need to be
an hour long, you

hope.

THE NEXT, BEST THING TO HELL

THE NEXT, BEST THING TO HELL

re-damned by some

falling sky,

your taste, as others

discretely sample

your flesh, marinated

in a mortality made

more sweet by our

willful ignorance

of all things.