there is a stretching vein in the
minutes of my life, shaved and
unsaved with every drag from a
cigarette, line of *******, or sip of
winey-alcohol. there is a moment
left unseen and soon severed, 20 /
40 / 60 / 80 years down the road.

I don't mind-- I've got the lungs of
an angel, long run, beast on the skivvy.
I've    got a mind like a bottle of sand,
scratch-scratch, lest we get the questions
in the little book you didn't mean to purchase
back before you knew your fifth grade teacher
could make kids as real as you

c'est la vie / & creeks would run the
blood like broken-facet-dream-containers

-- so you kept on waking up, j'st screaming
at the void