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from Dear Herculine

***

Life: but really no tranquil answers in the simplicity of facts.
Life: but really a dark haunting.
Our bodies becoming corpses of animate flesh.
The pages seep, burn, and become ghastly.
The red meat makes the grill flare its fat smoke upwards into threads.
Rags fill the room with their unwoven tendrils.
Haunting: the massive fabric octopus breeding its twisted legs into our . . .

 

 

 

 

 

histories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Herculine,

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