with my left hand resting forcibly on the soft-spot of my temple. daring myself to push all the way through.  thistime.
the heat darting down from the gutless open

searing my body from the hot.
i never tan, its either sunburn or skin cancer
and
if i could
i would
reach over and pluck out your lunatic thoughts and stick them in a mason jar on top of my
bureau. by my heap of things.
alongside the fat, waxy tallow of mellow-dramatic candles that i never did manage to get.