sweet dreams are sticky, drops of blood thrown to the gods.

full of howling moon, life lessons and a kit bag packed as a child.

such flag and bluster. .

if crushed, the rot sets in, anger amputates the future.

be here, be aware, be wary of where you mark your x.

praise is a precarious build, no solid ground prepared, fallen by morning.

the waters surface reflects what you bring, beneath an anchor demands accountability.

walking beyond self in the trees green, my tongue alone can't return a greeting, from outside a body is dislocated angles.

slight cupping of yesterday's material ritual, memory a sleight of hand.

an indecipherable tryst, losing self in other, lost again for the beech to blur the wound.

May's diamond ritual, scattering possibility in mirrored droplets, a cusp morning.