HOME | DD

Description
sometimes, I pretend
our home is tinnitus

I scrape pine needles
into a horizontal bowl.
twisted scenery

settling in like snow
inside my finger
bones, stirring

up sparks. he

may be the last
explosive, a
fire fight that bites

through my palms;
may be the last
crackling

monolith to collect
spacedust on

his loneliness.
I should be left alone

letting the passage of time
sink into the corners
of my eyes