Connecting the dots
A to B
became an interstellar travel cost
burnt iris to inky pupil
take a dip
south for the winter

tantric spiderwebs
threads of creation, silver lining
no train of thought
off the rails
envious of the golden fleece
yellow felt
painted with sad sunshine
sweating from torn tear duct
weeping with every poor pore

Pour me
glass for one
liquids keep you in place
all the mobility of the seven seas
for one cylindrical cathedral of
plastic and dishwasher age

between my teeth (no cigarette)
down my back (nails on a chalkboard)
back to bed
I'll clean up the blood in the morning