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

built a house out of screaming winds and the whispers tore it down

the green of trees curling into smoke and into the nothingness

the jester eats the sky with a spoon one laugh at a time

the demon grass eats rain in twelve directions to the sound of trumpets

held my breath for a century i believe and the wolves applauded