Some bald skin warms in laundry.

“The altar needs work,” the altar worker thinks, before slipping
down _____________________.  (something else here)

Slave ships start arriving in half dozens and toothbrush
bristles drag across her lungs.

Muse on names
for pairs of mules.
Honk and Cuss.
Belle and Nubbin.

Ignoring the intention of the shape,
stone drinks the rain.

Do you want anything else?

Have you told your mother, yet?