Fish Head

that fish smell of filth unwashed overripe body seasoned with pore salt

Slipping from View

perhaps it’s best we stop here, parting ways at the crossroads we stood too long beside. we know the adage: how gold never stays. surely, far greater loves than ours have died. we bear the gaunt trappings of yesteryear, ghostly figures shambling in plushy flesh, driven on by stark loneliness and fear. pitiful beings: the…