After a storm | The calmness seems calmer | The silence more silent

Not for sweet apples | Do we peel away our skin | Peel away the layers that once | Numbed us, but protected us

An autumn twig | Broken from a branch | Sits with me | On a cold and windy bench.

Undead green dog | Not dead, not yet | Snarling, grinning | Tongue out dribbling | The unwanted extra

Toledo: hot stone, alleyways, doorways | Narrow, crooked streets with midday dust | Cold canyons amid tall buildings

Sinewy, sickly, sweet yellow liquid | Slapped on the table: little bowl of what? | “Rum”, you say, mischief...

The sick stench of jealousy | green, sulphurous | stinks in my skull, makes snakes out of misery |