Not Yet Dead

they turned their backs on
your freshly dug grave but i
stayed with the crickets

burst pipe

her bilious grief
sparked a sweet effluvium
upon combustion

Committed

the grass was lush green
and he'd tend to it lovingly,
though it was plastic

Wretched Boy

timed his empty days
to the clicking of her shoes
coming down the hall.

All Good Things

frothy bubbles run
down the gutter, chasing
the impassive black hole.

Hidden Asylum

horrible window
the landscape of pigeon shit
warm yielding trash bags

trapped in skirts

perfect strangers wept
at the sight of her gleeful
banister wipe out