732
skull house
for Robyn and Adam
and Griffin and Sol
bright
all winter witted
lit from the past
just some green tendril up to tell
another solstice
too much sun
lost in tomb city
we are
polished concrete of the soul
our well lit deaths a welcome
rictus
each unearthed
like a punchline
so you see how we went
so little dust
so few webs
fine private place
the knitting lies
stray hands could be coaxed
all bicycle bones propel it
to stillness
sky too bright for foreboding
eyes too blue
yet we still breathe
this
politics of here and now
your
house-swap guest
inhabits
nature morte
finds
us in still life history
the
cockroach is anatomy
skull
of the crocodile eludes for now
the
cicadas are to be released
it
is only a matter of time
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