Cathedral Moss – J.L. Moultrie

February 8, 2026

thirty day notice on the front door of our flat

                                          another february endured

no apothecary outlasts the scanning of my 

wrist band its lamination withstood a thin layered inheritance 

                                          inhaled dampened grass

this of my own will a city with trees anointed by clouds 

divide the spoils my war’s terminus beneath the aegis of

                                                      impermanence

post christianity services blindly survived precarity 

self mined our last encounter seeing your face in austerity inner workings 

                                          of clocks in time’s passed we’d faced the wind temperatures that 

push many to invent temptations 

the eviction didn’t pass 

its cyclical

                            relations ask if i’m okay i can’t relate to them each evening 

                            drained

                                                                    of possibility facilities bathed in fluorescence 

overarching a

message contains splinters manifold blackness gifted sights

mistaken by pastors as someone else 

                                                                    entirely quit jobs before

they could fire me we fell in love 

through text

                            your anatomy and what’s beneath you’ll

know growing like an east facing tree