crow upon dead shoulders



tomorrow never fades, wish

this future would, a pale, pale

flame in a pale, pale heart,

energy lines of disconcerted

fragments drift to inert



a head without constellation



sometimes everywhere

seems so low it fits precisely

to the ground, fits the head

to below, burial is and

occupied with ghosts



yesterday guests worthlessness



sometimes rooms are just holes

to subdue in, allowing gloom

to grow blacker, whilst elsewhere

is breathable, here is suffocation

this room has no lung



sometimes hollows are all

sometimes it’s easier to

continue falling, continue

where the minutes ply

their deaths unlived in



think me in the dead season



feel it’s broken sea, wreckages mostly,

a bleak moor seldom of touches against

the black water’s edge, how deep is

nothingness? has the cadaver as a

meat wearing puppet



morning hates me all over again


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