REDDISH

GHOSTS

LOTUS JUNKS

DISAMBIGUATIONS

We can celebrate melancholy,

be the roses of the night

and plasticise our smiles

for others to keep

or to

borrow.

JUST DON'T BLINK

GLASS

I shift and shake in my sleep.

The bed is made of glass. The bed is a kite

like a chandelier question, wondering what broke.

I spent my night dreaming bloody sunrise

two dozen times, and I am tired like

living marrow that swims in a grave,

too real to be anything but latent memories

of when I watched you fall,

and spasm with lightning

before you became a god.

FREEZE AND SMOKE