Sixteen pannelled awnings,
clumps of disjointed spine,
poke through futon and flesh on either side.
The moss mold moves beneath us.
In this lovely apartment
splints in the moaning soggy wood grown ingrown and old
waiting for the landlord,
who is processing pharmaceuticals in the phillipines,
to care, it’s not holding its breath but holding
breezes, damp, and asian multi coloured beetles instead.
Somewhere in the roof they are
finding eachother. Hoarding, love making,
piling up for warmth and breeding.
Their spots and multi colors bleeding, seething
watching trees and you and me through cloudy eyes,
mimicing their change. Learning new seasons.

He stands fat and squat with one hand like a
melted fist, a trunk of wax
eyes dumb and mean
his frame filling the doorway where i’m stuck.
now the road spins with leaves behind me
we all move to find the sun, then find we cannot escape
the rain of leaves dying with pockmarks on their faces
cats and other animals gone missing
garage sales
frightened motes of plaster and memories hung between self and threat
which has brought down the walls,
and loosed their stacks of black underbellies, though he can’t hear them yet.
He’s wrapped himself thick in spider webs and cigarettes
but his slow menace is no match for this.