spirit

in the folded night
the moon shines with yellow light.
dingy rooms outside.

golden ratio.
is it mean to be average?
or is it golden?

moving things around.
that’s all humanity does.
from this pile to that.

i bide my passions.
counting days without winnings.
heaping mound of loss.

and into the fog
the spectral cowboy dissolves.
and my hope with him.

in the acrid smoke
the ghouls come relentlessly.
life is a minefield.