poem

you smoke wheat

in your tiny bedroom

sipping on diet schweppes

next to me passing me the zoot

considering the ensure

reading verse

skimming books

source of inspiration

never quite gets an inning

i am feeling – i am feeling

but it’s only images of a good day

tainted with truncation

and small lies

our dry eyes meet but i don’t feel the heat

i am accustomed to

there goes continuum in double

rainbows in the rancid air

hung low it splits the ceiling

into its strangled fist

i cannot let you down

only mist

deters me from the needle in the hay

i stub the cigarette and lay

myself down at your holy feet

let me beat you

i plead

and you turn your cold shoulders

into the window, down the street ur hanging by a flashlight

watching me

until we are in different

time zones

 

|Eaten| 2019