I hate the wind
The wind is like the conscience
It saltates through parallax angles
And belittles you
The tiniest draft is like
Being dragged through a burlap sack
The wind pulls my lifeline
And I spin like a pinwheel

My nakedness is the dipping point
Death sheds its modesty and
Works up the courage to slip me some GHB
I pray that I sleep through to the next life