dampness.
and breathing moss in this gulled city
with this solid mass of gray pressing upon my head,
i fear: if i respond to the unwavering clouds
with their misted
honeyblood whisperings
i will slit me.
slip away, drop away
to night long ago not yet
at the side of some sea
and taste salt in my nose
and feel winded milk push
violent in my flying hair
and those buttered balls of star hover
right above my head
and cold sand packs in my pantyhosed feet
winter between my toes
tick tock tick tock i walk
that watery edge and
around the air, around the waves, listen: .
silent neverending.
hiss, petrichor
exhaust, smeary glass
too bright green
under ash
shore away, shore away
and the stainless steel skylid
muttering pewter in my ear.
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