digging in
the dirt
bent on breath
behind veils
bent on tears
fucking poles
(please sir can I have some
more management
or skin
or blinking petals
& sweet-salt flick of
excitable tongues)?
Barking like trees,
disembarked from their
floating isles,
harmlessly brûlées--
dear waste,
must you always & forever?
How can we embrace
your brute dominion?
Dear me (aged),
how could you?
Dear me (prior),
how could you?
Dear nerves,
as if we could forget
the tool for this kind
of animosity--
until managerially inclined
like flotsam & jetsam
(home-bound &
wrist-bound),
humming like the
Rock of Ages,
trembling like
no tomorrow,
unless & until
tomorrow (n)ever--