by tremens


i am thin soil above your coffin
and the aftershave sheets that drape almost
too casually across the universe
painted by passing hands all shades of brown
for being too white for beatnik bathrooms and the blue island sound
cowering to cup handfuls of soil to the eyes
from the ground too far away and before burial
admitting that the sky was too harsh and
soaking beneath the sandal flats i had made
intelligible

i am your nightly deathwatch
seeking the stopgap breath that preens between canines
and across wrists in projected constellations
toothmarks down nerve endings and the
inside of flesh without feeling
until the bundle arrives and is sighed at for cumber
to drag -tiptoed- through vertigo and spoken and
shared syringes to the hazy shore of
death

i am a bouncing american man
bought cheaper at the street corner
bounced within to the next home
and the same man without; to colder small earth-shards
friends of the roaches and the freak-socialism
of the sidewalk cracks through which
disappointed narcotics
fall

i am a felt sour crevice in a brick wall
flight-blind and sorrow with
three mice behind and a world before
overlaid emptiness abridging the shortages of two materials
far as i, for as far as i am
with a limit of one world, three planes and
oxygenation

[stack up poem – day 4/5]