When the back cover closes
Under a shivering hand and new perspective
The dead come back to your lucid bed body
To chat and save the haunt
Your forehead stays flat and pockets
Could be green, or not
And illness sounds pretty
Good when read aloud
Tummies fill not with pah *** owns
But better, moths
Drawn to unseen lantern looms
And blue is just a note to pass
In a cyclical path from red to
Ultra purp and back
Tomorrow might make you **** yourself
But the fear will keep you warm
Too long do we settle to **** the noxious
And ask for mistakes in body art
Why blot ink
Think
Breathe
Live
Death don’t hurt, so neither will a running start
The fall is plenty long and
Pavement tasted like spring