when spring arrives i won’t be made new.

by Lars Avis

in a house with charred attic door-ripped-off-hinge segues into the next

endings were smoked past their filter sucked down throat into stomach

faster than any person could escape i was ruddered dead center between

alexithymia and grief the all-breath-pulled-in-fully-expanded mourning

of february march april i kneeled to kiss claw foot chair while idling to

paint my starry night on slanted ceiling smearing deep blue acrylic with

marred wood grain against intuition i am one thousand miles away from

myself and as shriveling candle wicks mark minutes left behind i realize

not even the bloated moon will care enough to drag me away.