Irene Koronas

such     switches switch after switch such afters such is the     nature of such itch such niches such fuss such touch   such switches   his blue eyes by the door you knew your way you took no sounds any fool would have asked your name as if thinking blackens our path i left i am

now that the world has come to an end
morning glories and poppies, flesh and sun
and rusty nails in glass jars disappear with tide