write-as-rains

on couches

A loneliness epidemic

Yuletide’s burning log or candles burning

in the dark

Heavy and smoky

the last connection at an old

There are days where I still hope that the stranger

asking my name

the witch rising

moon bright over straw-gold pastures

Girls like that

set themselves on fire

destroy the ego

a twist of godliness

The shrine left empty

only ghosts kneeling

The night gathering in bunches

purple needlegrass along the edges

disguising haunting eyes

You would never go hungry

And you forgot what it meant

to want

The hot spice of desire

the heat upon the tongue

a starvation of its own

The ritual always contains food

Something is consumed

the fruit, the flesh, the spirit

I checked a kitchen cabinet holding honey jars, nuts & dried fruit

only to find moths fluttering around

An entire stock thrown out