you want everything to look like the setting sun,
or a marble bull,
charging at your viscera.

what draws you to these lines?

nothing. i drift heavy,
only toes touch land, wood, and sea.
lustful, i was, so bound to myself i lie
in some endless death march,
bayonet, tracing silhouettes into my backside.
girls from home, mostly.
a mother,
friend,

what salvation are you seeking?

not salvation, only time.
seconds, to turn into minutes,
to somehow, without blinking
bind themselves into one life.

i’ll see what i can do.