( via / me )

Widdershins twister.

"The Low North Courier

Droppings—green, chalked.
Goose duty for a morgen’s sward
of plush grass grazed
before arrowing on south.

Logs, bundles, tumble.
Unfastening into the brack water,
where salt meets sweet
and clay slip-silts its cycle.

Deposits dissolve.
Phosphates prosper, mineral milk spills
scud the puddles,
exchange with counterfeit clouds.

Soft compost, still strives
Though the third tide seeps, tithes due;
skewing skyward
with each plunge-suck of my boot.

Droppings—in suspension.
Solute seeds yearn to disperse
over the dyke,
boot-boosted to drier muds."

--Dr. Alice Twemlow via

Burgess bandaids.

"The night was cold and dark.

'Listen to the wind howling in the trees,' said Frog. 'What a fine time for a ghost story.

Toad moved deeper into his chair."

--@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social

For Those Who Wake in Fear.