i fill up the teapot with peppermint, fresh from the garden. bring my blood to a rolling boil, and pour it into fine china. wait patiently for the devil to form.
and of course, he tempts me. with golden dollar bills, and opaque words. i sip my tea. tap my fingers on the kitchen table, and listen. carefully.
i visit the graveyard in my closet. lay calendula petals, over the paperthin corpse of destiny.
i slip out the door; empty backpack on my shoulders. and i wander through the desert for days.
savouring the sourdough taste of my decomposing words.