...psi...

Insomnia
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
Rudderless.

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
Stale.

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

Virtue
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.