Tectophilic

calm inside the eye
I load a trowel with fresh promises
mortar for the next course
filling gaps in my understanding

staggering for strength
these cobbles made of straw
constantly disintegrating
I am my task in perpetuity
caked with mud from head to toe, but
there are no mirrors here

would you have me flee
this debtor’s jail, the only
home I’ve ever known
should walls fall into disrepair
shallow roots against the storm
exhausted favor turns this eye
I might be swept away

apology’s aftermath

Republican Project: Segregate The Internet is going full steam ahead

onychophagia

the amateur

spring is in the air

is Maynard singing kargyraa?

“low Mach”

stokers