sometimes i feel like atoms flung;
other times, like
atoms in flight
arching toward some strange
sideshow attraction
at the end of time.

my skin,
opal
white
in lunar light;

she
scryed
these hard tears
until they came.

your cold heavy vapor swims up there and
itoldyouso face and
wild rose distillation, which
always has me coming
hard.

it stills it;
like lakes placid in the beginning back then, it
kills the pill
that takes me
and frames me
in the worst ways, like like like
an oil painting of a bowl of ******* fruit hung
in the abyss (?).

but sometimes i can't come
and then my thoughts hafta
turn the color darkknotsundone
so that i can shoot thorns
and be fuzzy peripheral again.