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.