What makes the morning mutable?
Sleep
is a tundra,
an entire academy seeking the kiln of
waking.
Some neck package / read fine print.
There is a secret paradise in many faces.
Springtime is a gift.
Clarity is like thunder (in the hills).
Sadness is a radish on the salad of life:
put it off to the side.
I’m jealous of my own lungs as
they breathe your delicious air.
