I spent the night with a poetupon a bed of narcissm,knee-deep in a warwith balled paper and pain.
The rain fills the groundwith the shush of jumbling kinetics,triggering some, pistol-liketo somnolence;consciousness ad r i ftwithout…
Keep your headwith all its contents,
Time, like the suncan flow through a tainted clarity — the settled dust of settings past,upon the windows of attentionand opportunity.
We work our bodies into adaptation...Bones against spade, muscles against troweluntil ossification hardens our shells;a rigor that readies us…
The road unwinds, todaywith promises of red ribbon premonitions.
Wake with the weight of water;an ocean’s breadth of brine —
Inertia hovers, rectangularover my bed and yet the grave is not deep enoughto crush the fat from my head
Lean in for the kiss,but wear the bite.
I have a predation,a fate hot as a sunstroke,slender as a shiv