two (or is it three...?) weeks in to the
overnight shift and never have i wanted
   to wash myself in
the golden rays of that nearest                     star
our sun more than i do now as the ineradicable
   cloak of night stretches
itself over these my newly waking hours.  this night
i feel massive but
diffuse, like the ghost of a
   glacier lingering amongst the scablands;  nebulous
and immense,
   like a short-circuited god-machine
cannibalizing itself in a forgotten
corner of the universe.    the sleep is broken, the
mind needs rest.  the mind needs
   rest.

An albino crow,
On a fogless winter morn!
Nature spells wrong!

An albino moth wanders into my apartment
And I wonder how's it's stayed alive so far
And if it will fly low enough
for my dog to ****** out of the sky
And end a dynasty

WE MAY NOT BE THE PERFECT PEOPLE
NO
****
WE'RE ALL ****** UP
BE WE WILL STAND UP FOR EACH OTHER
CAUSE WHO THE **** ELSE WILL?
WHOSE GONNA TAKE YOUR HAND, WHILE YOU SOB ON THE GROUND, AND PULL YOU UP?
FRIENDS, THATS WHO WILL

In his glass world
he seems to float
embryonic smooth and white,
not pure white but rather yellowish

watched by thousands of eyes
far from his ilk,
alligators in green, out there,
innocent, harmless

it seems as if they, in the evening
after the last visitors have left,
pull the valve out of his back
and let the air and life leave him