an ecstatic narrative hacked up
into a handkerchief again
& yet I am failing
to figure in any of this:
those crows backdropped by this
blackness
that transmission of insects
& the pain above my eye I’m
only able to shrug to
w/one of my shoulders then the
other
o another morning executed
how so silently it clicked into
place
along w/a sound from the floor up
above
like a pregnant animal trying to
get comfortable
but look here’s enough dust to
build us an ark
& conjectures to line both my
pockets!
deliberately yellowed I’ll settle
into old bones
& raise up the sucker glass to
the sky once again
so what if my tongue’s stitched
w/sound,
a resting place for my memories?
I can’t help but try out each
breath again
this time w/my knees even deeper in
thought