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it’s in the nature
of ants to bite; it’s in mine
to flick them away.

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then suddenly one
night, it smelled like the summers
I knew as a child

07/19

evidence: shiny
silk of cocoon, empty
hung on the dead vine.

07/18

the passion vine won’t
flower, but instead break out
into butterflies

07/09

how much the busted
tire on the roadside looks like
a broken black bird.

loud crack and pop of
fireworks; higher up, the
quiet moon, brighter still

sitting still. breathing.
around me, weather changes.
maybe rain; maybe not.