Excerpt

You take to swinging a pickax
I take back my vamping kinks

And the pavement beneath us sinks
This stinks. Think: In-situ leaching

But with leeches, louses,
Lampreys. Oh Spouse,

Your hard hat leaks a surfeit
Of lamp rays that's wasted sub-surface

A night so pitch it's perfectly black.
A sapphire scarred by a scratch.

Sickness, health, abundance, lack
The salt in my wound. The shirt on your back.

- December issue of POETRY