the mad gods play dice with the neon tides of memory

wild cats claw at origami moons as gravity disintegrates

in slow measured breaths we exhale mist into the silent morning

i wonder if the autumn sky remembers every cloud that ever existed

let the ink run wild break sentence and bones return flesh to a time that never made any sense

before i could catch its tail a poem falls through the gaps and shatters into a million and more microcosms

the autumn clouds spat out stones each one an unfinished map of paradise

we stood in a circle unspeaking the ants came first followed by the ghosts in red