Charles Hood, Dirt
HUMIC
Your signet ring
Spontaneously buried in my absolution
To grow keywords
For its recusancy.
My fingers feverish
To feel its glint.
Give birth to fireflies
Over the land of promise.
Don’t ask me anything.
I can scythe the winds and find your code
Because I am herbivorous now.
The home, the scent, the cobwebs—
My late herbarium.
Erigeron
Symbolic on the ritual bread.
Today
All next of kin
Will change my garb in black
While telling lies.
Entrapped, I heard them saying:
Be specular at our Sunday dinner—
Chants stuffed in quails.
_________________________
Vyarka Kozareva