The dragonfly in rancid in its death

It loves the soil pressed against my form as you. and. I. play checkers with shots in a field of broken glass

Tattered wings hum melodies

&

My solo never comes as I drift away under a gentle body.

The red house is burning through the fog

&

The ashes melt the colours of any resistance we may have had.

Once upon a time is so far away

&

We’re welded together with the void memories of erased spaces.

The dragonfly is rancid in its death

It escapes the fire through the life line in my palm

&

I can still feel it burning.