the thorns that cross my mind at night
with gold eggs stuck in my throat
(cod liver oil, big and bloated and gold)

he heaves me into a cold front,
but I can hear planes circling us
on their fronts and cold,
the dark is a rumble
tottering ***** plates on edge

the planets are spectators come too close
like wasps, too close, can't finish this thought -
I love you but I need to be alone,
this is when ghosts come, too shy for you,
they need to sit and shyly shiver,
go now, go out,
and find out -
where is that plane going? Cold, someplace cold?