Poetry

“Harder for her to lead me out of pain, / the ache of it a half-bitten apple, left to bees.”

“The storm door hisses / as it closes behind me.”

“Now into / poverty and solace as the story unfolds.”

“Skittering across the burnt grass, / taking the sweetness of the world with her.”

“Time yourself, so your heart has more / competition.  Evolving, the manual says.”