My Friend Facade
My friend Facade is writing a history of the hive mind…
My friend Facade is writing a history of the hive mind…
young dog howls…
Roses are apple…
Roses are individual manifestations of a type…
in this brutal winter / when hawks are slaying…
He gave a speech about tariffs and toilets, or maybe it was about bribes and bidets.
Our puritan home / housed a ghost…
It’s the season’s first frost tonight. / He’s never seen a more perfect you…
loopy on / wolfsbane / and organ / meat…
old farmhouse, long abandoned, / rotting and vine-devoured…