in the blows we come to with soft arms and a dozen novas
so many rags are well worn in nothing more than a mirror
we Narcissist. Amen.
too deep are the shallows things we get into.
bunched in the fervor of our Usual...
soaping steam like an actual thirst pirate
choking on a Stream of Consciousness
where it hurts
it’s more like it sings.
But worse.