food for crows

gasping, gaping. Metastasis. It glows in the corner as a fire fly’s mouth. Deep molasses of a moonless Southern night. It has a need of its own. There is a name on the door but no one knows who it belongs to anymore. That seed was scattered and crop failed. Erasure, in gilded gloaming. The craft of wetwork still decorates some of old pine floor. l’satan lo. Obstruction, judgement. The weather vane is rusted in a westerly position. Adverse to meaning, this pain is still subjective. There was never a time in this place where the low dogs didn’t whine. … Continue reading food for crows