the cost of fabricating dreams (&attempted sleep at three)
anxiety, prone insomniacs, huddle& whimper
at the latter-rungs of the nocturnal, wide-eyed ones
do you suffocate, from self-woven cocoons, this summer

we share the fruit amongst our, selves, bleeding bite
after

palms, folded& extended, good intentions
halved

quarantine paled spirits chilled from incessant rain
a drawn-out chalk line of mental burials murals
this salt pillar collapses with a hand extended
the flood will carry our bodies, over this chasm, beyond