the inanimate icicles / gleam in the sunshine / there is the function / of sunlight in winter / to decorate the trappings / that so transport us
"here' s an idea."
It’s something only I can hear / and especially during those moments / that get so quiet without you / not a buzzing exactly or a hiss / more like the screech of lab mice / conditioned by electric shocks / to shudder at the smell of cherry blossoms
Life here is dangerous. Even the body eventually turns hostile toward its only occupant. Look at me, a symphony crawling with worms. Stay up late enough you can feel the dark begin to vibrate.