spit them out

they’ll find the soil

autumn’s cat has a white tail 

a leaf meets its shadow

a line

or two

a singular poet

says no one understands me

thank for choosing today

your order number is

scanning the barcodes

on the coffins’ bury by date

when all is said and done

a minute of silence

arguing

about a Möbius curve

the cat is there

i am here