Cold words in winter.
.
Fleeing, familiar.
.
No
leaves falling.
.
in an unlined notebook thoughts
downhill
.
gods of our youth now chicken salad
.
What, do I have to start again?
.
Happy there. Though the
smoke. Through?
.
Still
strings. A glimmer in the
sky. Awful.
.
What she
said. What she meant.
.
No, leaves falling. Earth spins.
.
blossoms
.
in the prison
of the rib cage
.
nock
.
on bars
that
aren’t there
other animals 