I woke beside
a pitch black crust
like the dust
permeating veins.

I sat upon colidascope concrete
until morning
brought birds
to carry my neck
back to you.

I collapsed onto the shore
and cried all night
because I finally outran my shadow
and the seaside
refused to share.

I pounded my fists
into the sockets
holding your eyes.
They're missing,
stolen perhaps
by another set of cheekbones.

I scraped the sky
with nails like coal,
leaving streaks of blood
across east Ohio.

I sat on the ceiling
as the fingertips of July
stretched my mind
away from fire.

Does she rub your shoulders?
I hope she does.
I really do.