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

I / the road lies before me— / a dark promise, a yellow

perhaps, waking up here is the closest I’ve ever gotten / to living life on a bed of roses.

I kissed a dragon once / in a desert hammered flat by stars. / His breath, hot with experience, / scraped / but / / made me feel / vibrant.

Whenever a mother does not have a child / but needs a child, she goes to the hole / and there is always a baby / waiting for her.

i. / I met a god today / he sat by / the window in economy / no leg room

The moon is a god / It is best to thank him. / The night is the time of spirits; of the dead / It is best to stay inside

I confess my guilt time and again—

Confused, are you / the inkling shoestring type / who always gets away / You must remind me: / who am I to you if / you do not bite?