Andrew Brenza
Gossamer 21

nightglossed until what

is breathworn/stalelight;

whetherveined scopes of nakedness

between us, two bedbreaths

away from the somehow sound of unweeping,

which found something too:



the membranes of Europa:

steamsteeped shoals of giant unwant in hovermore



grandmother’s legs: a quartz bullet in the bonehouse of despair



rage like a real cloak of sincerity/like a way into any vanishing point



an exolexis-headed exclamation of redemption:

o what arboreal backstained shadows make metafaces!

o what backstained shadows make arboreal the semigod!