an eye anchored with a thick angry thorn
I found you breathing
sick sick sick
you got it bad

the tidal looms
the title is taboo
and you scurry from it like a waxy back roach
and I chew myself
whittle myself to nothing

the stone yard of broken teeth
old names to reuse

he told me the joy
he had with me
is greater than the sadness
he had alone
spoke on the edge of sleep
I recorded it
because I knew I would forget it

and I did

and that thorn
that anchor
is all I have for show
it’s my lone memento