a black horse and a white horse tangle in the blue black of midnight, somehow i hold on with a bridle laughing within my outer palm and pads of my fingertips. no framing nails no concrete shoes nothing holding me down with the pure rpm’s shellacking left to right like speed reading, or a flicker of fire just like it used to dance across your eyes when we lit the candles. i never saw my wildest dreams til i closed my eyes but neverthewhile did i fall asleep, neverdid i break any rules to get here, and somehow “never” became this personification that i used all the time- soon settled, cyclical sans stopping. ****.

always. i always horizoned my pillowtop mattress, sunrise coming up across abdomens of sculpted morning-after a long sunday shut inside a curtain made of framed carpentry drywall and what have you. i sat along the crevasse of the bed with my legs becoming two telescoping camera stands, eyes hungover from all of the imagery that monsoons couldnt drench myself in- i lie here still, partly, and i wonder. where we were alone, i am alone. where we would sleep, i am sleep. where we would love, i am love.

and i guess that’s the map key, the legend, the gold standard.