Desperate
**** air in
To my lung
Green roast
Ghost it real
Quick after
Mastered
The art of
Becoming
Her highness
Incarnate

When all things are gone
Death will die
And life will begin again

Perhaps I mightve been a lobster
My backwards spine and plate,
Perhaps as human I am fitter
Perhaps maybe,  a good deal bitter
The stars dance looping circles
Casting their lives brightly,  tightly around
And I am stardust,  true,  and you
As well were once a star.
We could've been lobsters,  but
We lived,  and came so far
And so's our fate

I was scrubbing toilets for
money, then
a rhythm came upon my head
"da-da duh-da-duh da-duh duh" then
the smell of *****, yellow brine.
Later, when I think to send you
the poem it came from, I think of the discovery of it
"From a magician's midnight sleeve"
                     and the way that we read. And
I think of the toilets I scrubbed, and the words
hidden there lost in all the little flushes, like
everything happening outside my window now: I ran
and ran in the thunder. I am still soaked; home is so far.