There is no violent, shaking opposition,
When the yawning mouth’s black teeth approach.
The need to flee dulled by sitcom-deadened zen
The fetid breath of roses in upturned noses.

You can’t remember how you got here,
Who you followed.
You try to recall the smell of sweat without fear,
Before you’re swallowed.

You can’t remember how the sky was then.
Gone the blue that is more than a color.
The blue exalted by Maggie Nelson.
The blue ceiling vaulted above goldenrod flowers.