words untitled (Balatonalmádi) it is the day the spiders hatched. mugwort do not underestimate the space i will claim. the port the woman brushed the wet sand from her dress. the pair walked on in silence “tell the story of a scar” he had always been gifted at sports of all kinds / dreams i dreamed my namei dreamed my motheri dreamed i was a rotting log Your fucking needs you fucking bastard women throwing things into fires on any given night whether the moon be bright and fat or a shadow of herself Can’t wait to see you a head start i breathed with him barely sipping the pale air the fog the woman walked south along the high cliff path The Story of the Nether Largie Stanes “Mooooooon!” Earth would call up into the darkness. “Gealllaaaach! Come down here and talk with me. Dora it is not a friendship, not a business transaction, not a love affair, not a baby. my house will have no sign you will not find it by name or number. the landing branta came that night. paddled right up beside her in a tree-trunk canoe, offering a name. the woman once there was a woman who lived alone For Molly Some things are worth more than a risky fuck At last we are drunk for the first time in the foothills of cadair idris fresh out of school where for five years they called us lemons and dykes. the sea-wives «mother doesn’t give a shit.» the boat on windy days the sea-wives would be busy with the boats. baba yaga’s hut they come to me for the stupidest things. dead rabbit dora found a rabbit near the tip self-portrait with ghost They hadn’t spoken in 40 years. Scraps I pause to think of all the things I could do to regulate my nervous system Freedom It is the risk-taker in you that I fell in love with the spider the woman remembered the swivel of shod hooves on the dusty road, and running. geese once more with feeling:[bellowing] you do not have to be good You are the tiny person, the cupped hand, and every moon A tease, a glimpse, a late bloom. An idea of what you might become. Untitled (Mother) sea, ever changing, ever constant. what do you know about mother?you cannot know mother. the dance one day the woman awoke feeling strange. bone stories i could tell it so many ways. Our season How you loved to tell that tale. How I loved to hear it. Wrong but not wrong I thought I was bla bla bla bla bla bla bla.