As wilted as you are,
On the walls and look–
there is so much gore
there is so much more.
I had to order a drilling machine
Or else the music will fall in the pits
of my seismic mind,
Is this what a stroke feels like?
The applause of losing sense
When you break
The blunt ends of reality
As the horizon folds and assemble around your forehead
There is finally a permanence in the clouds; says:
there she treads unfed
Into the oblivion.
I hear the never-saying so much
I became them.
The trees, the ice sitting in my refrigerator and a sullen end of my toe,
But I say no more.