In ashen fish I.
III. bleakest morning, still sweating the moment into damp tendons & smoldering remainder of last night’s blighted fires put out w/ shame.
There is no misses. An absolute shelter. Love is so: thrones. Stow a slate roof’d heart-attack after a soul’s sku I scan. In some breakfast food aisle of wellmulled memories.
stomach growls at the lungs, the brain aches above a nerve twisted, the useless thumb we return again to faulty evolution, ashen fish.
Being is against its own saying, the argument stilled by our weakening of each other’s ungoverned lust. As fear thins, as footfalls conjugate goings, as the rain rains & chills chill us both.
II. my spit clings to each word, & regrets truth I have been unlucky enough to confront recently, to’ve soaked all these sheets with. offer an absolution by excusing me, let my absence clock a time we’ll save by sewing shame shut with clever scissors & renew my silence.
IV. Don’t be careless of necessity, neither mine nor your own. Don’t sleep against time, or speak against names, or fuck yourself with a broken hand and broken head and a broken heel. Settle the debt you think you owe, you who’ve given goblets of surrender, a full chalice of succession, ash-heap of hope that to lie in the missing moments allows what your coming has never let arrive.