untitled sequence

using the night as a corridor for leaving my umbrella and my unimaginable dog

on the way to her brain I pass a poster for Apocalypse Now

nowhere to sit but on the blind ocean’s fingers counting

come to think of it: ancestors full of crows

a place to hide them teethful leaves of summer

during vespers my bunion points East

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

after vegas, we became mob rats. i try to turn you in. you slap me in the gonads with disjointed fingers. during make-up sex, we behave like electric eels. we seize like a memory. later, you retire to a life of re-sewing pajamas for plastic animals

waking up from a coma
she says to pass the cheese dip

Kyle Hemmings