so sleepy now… but with all engines running into turmoil
too busy to be redeemed. more longshanks than swine.
with too cumbersome a soul
to be Actually with...
as long as the angle of my descent
is the square of my somber Fall.
Joy lay saner, where the crazy began
because hoofprints
were brisk shallow
for all the sauntering
to an abysmal
collapse...

soooo sleepy now… the Bedroom’s the outskirts
of a private Diaspora. with Charlamanges cookies
and a dearth of impoverished -
harmonics. sleeping through the worst  
Conspiracies… So Songs still sound
Like Nothing, -
with just a pinch of Thought
where the Salt
should Be
Unanimous

And Lost.

As ever would
Be.