“
Now reading
Death with three left feet
i. empty man
What if there’s death inside me
and I am unaware of it
traveling at midday through scolding grains
to the house
where it is decided:
is it there
the infamous button
the golden finger
that kills?
to the kind eye
even the moth is golden
but not in the scary
way of noons
ii. forest with ill woman
Death is always inside us
ear to the otherworld
nose futureward which is north
like moss
waiting for the perfect collision
of ring and bone
barking at everything
so we don’t have to hear
the minutes—
not heartless, this inside hound
the only question is
who is the fox
iii. the leap
I open when it opens
and I peruse its wheels
lovely clock
that inside has an orchard
and horses that eat apples
and the farmer shoots the horses
and that’s how time passes