Light; enter the den — waiting for salvation is torture for the meek,I suspect cornea widens in depth, frontal cortex announces relief,pleasure…
We step overteeming citiesand grind themto fine powder‘neath scalded heelsthen go on our mournful wayand never…
the velvet-lined womb
shielding me from what I wasn’t aware of
Dawn to dusk,Sunrise to sunset,Traffic going, traffic coming,Babies coming, men going,Life makes no difference…