October 2025 There is a post Middle of a field A cow, Tied by neck As it wanders Rope coils round And range it wanders Shorten I can’t tell if being with you has me gnawing the same grass Or if the rope is air and It’s my imagination tied to the post How horrifying it is the thought that I could be boundlessly tripping through skies dark light crimson blue eating the stars but that I don’t for the thirst this post slakes I suppose the milk of my only-human kindness would spil

Lemon, my sweet Pour yourself into me Revel in the science of A heart flung Ever-uselessly trying to be Free I’m out again But what is...