The moon lulls me as I wade through poppy fields, dragging limp hands behind me, catching each pod long enough before it snaps upright again

I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—

Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,

I feel newly acquainted with this skin, everything is novel, intensity is wherever my eyes land,

In your gut is an empire— Spells, tug of war, Holy Days, ascent, decline.

As far as the eye can see— Limitless blue nowhere to be found.

Finally alone, I lie with a volum… I venture again to hear the injunc… normally I savor their sensitivity… but tonight all I can think about

Whether you’re preaching to the ch… or your words fall on deaf ears, just know you won’t swing a single vote.

The cicada, once with the humility of a barnac… weeping beneath the fern, now screams its inane mantra, which

I would lie with my hand on the B… I would lie with my hand on a stac… of Holy Qurans. I would look you dead-in-the-eye, and tell you a lie.

The only thing you can prove is how crazy you are. It’s the best defense. Where was I going with this? I don’t know.

Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,

A Sacred Site, to my mind, is the last place you’ll ever stan… Such a place reveals hypocrisy without shaming,

When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.