Worshipping Idle

(sic)?

A tourniquet of repetitious time:
Pull it
the eye narrows round hours
dwindling and drawn
across my fine throat
dry as sparkling sandpaper
rubbing raw athwart the grain
of a Mobius moment

Sweat and pain
drip from my bed
as I’m drawn from sheets
to sill
to Sol
her lip a smear of orange anguish
from which I taste:
the delirious bee
my brittle winged rattle
in a pocket of space
an envelope of dead air
— an ear
the corner at which this Jezebel sits
whispering Sweet Somethings
while I’m bracketing my nightmares
and wrangling with the veil
of a stubborn sunset
which at final tug then yields
the scene unfolds — she sings
“a glistening gallows”
and the knot in my moment tightens