cannot stop scratching
the bottom of the bucket
my hair irritates my
dreams I stir the bowl
****** and make another
man plunge every night
is cut short by the daily
do I stuff myself with fresh
leftovers the bed dust is rough
with my scaly flesh I cannot die
clean my morals neither
align nor agree the summer nights
sag with restless air I feel my
love for him slipping her texts
disturb my need for peace I
feel the imbalance of straight
acting tomorrow's weather is
foggy I will stop looking for
stars in you.