Michelle Paulsen
weekends of walking into the you grow tired a strange sudden
in storms

it may be a
misnomer, but
somehow it's
faithful: gothic
the light
bleeds into the
chambers, murders
have occurred
here, and we all
drink hot
staring at a naked
up on his there is something
then there was the it may be a
snowflakes are fireflies for driving in the there is a