it is dawn, a decade in the clear
still i sit here
mostly broke
willing anything different in the mindeye–a cloud broke open as light beams on water are the only sense that dew and fog and mist are real– ish
praying you tubers and pma zealots fall to sleep again in
mists of the midsts of their own clouds
still i sit defensive &
ferreting out space
to admit
how unfathomed my hunger actually is
keep you fingers out of your ears, especially if they dirty
the only action order i command, all i know to do to
be good to myself. that &
brown rice
for days &
show up
to you, for god’s sake alight as you are like
feathers boa’d around my neck, faux glitz &
glamour never did do me no good deed
in the end, or
anyhow, those are each an ink pen
& the sparkle glimmer
within
a million down and a million to go
…but when
