I hurt, ache todayand shower was diffuse;unable to define my substance.
Trompe L’Oeil, when ash and ember revisit;sparks drifting unquenched,like uneasiness,sifting downbelow.
Living and dyingare the same, thoughthe former is sometimes a choice.
Play me a song that hums — a vibration that cutswith the ridges of scars
The laundry has becomean unknown refuge -a blending of timewith emotional carapaces:
Lying in a motel room,spinning, like the fan.