leaning on a rusty figure eight
my nails chip away at it
head on the tabletop lifting breaths from the center
minute single snares snap capturing the space
time reddens and swells like a bruise around me

sop up my wilted remains from the garden plots
polyglots in my sinuses whisper rhymes in sanskrit
laughin in rhythm within my toe tappin on icy paths
a buncha doughey toesies poking in the carpet