trailer hitch in a ziploc bag
fertile soil eats my palms
an empty wooden room lit by giant blinding windows
floorboards creak under dust
a flashlight illuminates the hedges
mechanical hens in rusted cages
omnidirectional midnight paths intersect unseen
i wish i were in space, dad
crooked stalks protrude and intertwine
polished plums on pedestals weep in close microtonal harmony
(the light is not anything because you are not anything and you are the light but you are not the light because the light is not anything and you are not anything, unless nothing is anything, in which case it's call leveled out, bra)
