On the rails
flatter than the globe
fewer rats burrowing in the rocks

the third rail doesn't shock as strong

Poems about love are not in my repertoire-
I've got other forms of simple.

breath near the curvature-
consequential details blur under the horizon
distant and thin
matters of scale- numericals; quantifiable projected outcomes
the inhale feels the same, but always gives off more gas

exhausted elastic on the concrete- that old weave, a tumbleweed bouncing beautifly in the gerrymandered chorus of political will...

Always the same time, by some metric of measure
Certain days start anew, most just reopen
A dream of words- relics of intention
In time the wind stops breathing and a nothing buys the temptation

The inspired percussive harmonies of a cockroach **** refract outward from my kitchen with perfect time to recongeal and land in precise density on my sleepless twitch...

missed it by moments
crumbles and wheat
old refineries unneeded
still provide heat