red tattered cloth

cinders tanka

four or five bricks heaped
the remnants of your burnt hearth
a red tattered cloth
the cold cinders of your life
monticules wind-blown away

What I’m Reading:

“i dreamt i was a pinnacle of coral.”

— Bernadette Mayer / “Unconditional Death Is a Good Title”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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