I stripped the ocean of its salt, the winds whippingly
sailed to my
eyes.

didn't you write of how you tied the sun
to my
ankles
almost blasting
-uncalled.

merry joints never laugh and thank you
ever so much
thrice the crowing
in the morning, time stole away to the next month
a sixth of a year now.

thrash the whole grains, feed a flattened bread to the crowd
you can peer deep in the face of tomorrow's screen
but from these eyes
better to
turn your face.