a dehisce to the moonrise
an abandon in amnesia 
rooted between honesty and a lie;

eerie strange dreams
in the mouth betraying, vomiting
words w/o consequence

shimmering as a child
in the growing year of winter;
whispers in art death,
knowing it could be better. 

© 2021 All Rights Reserved.

9 thoughts on “dehisce.”

    1. Plenary of mal de mer
      an icebox

      push the ghosts
      off the bed; it’s too early

      they whore to the moon
      like a cut

      we laugh
      like lunatics.


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