Prologue to a Northwest Summer

The cold rain

washing the sky, 

the sky pressing 

against the door,

the door knob

clicking its tongue 

while I sharpen 

all my pencils 

to dust.

[LSS, 6/18/22]

Autobiography of This Project

I’m looking for the one true skeleton 

that lies within these diagonal lines, 

but every time I get to what smells 

like marrow, a different series 

of lines appears, and I have to start 

over at the origin to attempt to create 

an entirely new creation myth. 

[LSS, 6/18/22]