fettuccine all‘uovo No94 (the carbonara poem) our pasts lay desiccated tangled pasta nests in glassine windows waiting to be saline, salient, pliable grist as coal miners we emerge from black dust; yo
Journey to Xishuangbanna the old country stashes swamps in the far southwest breezes are claggy, sweetly miasmic jungle sweat drags out the dawn sallow orb: flicker on a cacophony of shrieks and chitt
Stump branches with inflamed apples sag over the backyard fence I leave a metal pail beside your shoes one week later still a folded ladder buried in red rot I sift through the tree for an