Last night was beautiful / fog-swallowed, rain-kissed / we got drunk on the balcony / and talked of Plank’s length

You start to hear me / Or rather / A tapping in the walls, / Down the halls

I saw them once— / sky sisters, swimming, / curly-hooked surf / collapsing, a squall.

Amy G. Dala went out / for a lunch date / with her brainy friend, Medu La’Oblongata

girl scouts sell s’mores to pay their dues / & boy scouts light cigarettes before vanishing

There is a part of me / that scuttles across the sea floor, / that stares up scowling / at rays of sunlight / filtering down to dapple the sand.

/ than anything else—cold hands, wild shrieks, / dark fog raging in the air.

The fables, fantasies, facts, figures / of their disparate discordant parts

Beneath a gibbous moon / the werewolf howls and hunts / for her keys. Again.

When rain hurls itself against the diamond glass / with the suicidal passion of a gothic hero, transforming / my window into the white, glycerin eye / of a dark castle, gnarled and hiding among thick trees