a stockpile of words and gin for the end days

the joy of being gently nudged out of my seat by a mud wasp

never tired of each other the mist and the autumn forest

touch and she glows i feel the same way too

plenty on the moon’s mind this autumn night

kindly deposit your eyes in this box the whiskey burns

more shadow than shrill getting used to this face

autumn night the time spent with walls counts as penance