Interregnum

Published in Indicia Literary Journal, Volume 4.1, Winter/Spring 2020 The butterhung wind licks summer skin like sugar dog tongues, golden as the space your belly laugh once carved out of this very room. Now I rent it out at storage rates. Meanwhile, a man jumps off a bridge. he is on fire. These days you look like a grave that something is trying to crawl out of, and I am addicted to the darkness between worlds. So here I am, back to pick my teeth with perfect bones nestled among the corporeal undercarriages of my mother’s parrot tulips. I buried you, yet here you are.