Tuesday, May 20, 2014


His outline keeps me awake in the dark.
The cubic space surrounding me
Bows under the psi, growing from unspent torque.
Toss, turn, consumed by neglect
Sailing through a cotton sea

O slick, ship's wheel
Grasp and twist with confidence
Navigate needs that bemoan the heavy night
Place weight where this mind struggles to capture
A ballad to croon.
I am warping under this long-echoing sigh

Bitten, stretched, torn
Night deflecting strain, powerless
This sheep-less mood screams, a foot above the bunk I labor
Cold steel continually meeting that wet grove- alone.
I'd trade a thousand known moons
For a sliver-less sink, to drop in slowly,
And erase this lonesome patina

Ensnares the strong and belts them in
For a praiseworthy ride, riddled with loss.

The trade here is eager, desired
But lonely and fucked, nonetheless.

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