Making sense of days one day at time on the line.
Looking for the square of paper with the contact
for the clinic so I could stage some kind of come back
and bring my head to the base of the stack and suck
in some kind of furnace heat meaning
for all of the smoke and maybe start to point
to a fire. No luck. Looking up, regardless, to what
there is to look ahead to and head through
the bad lands and endless psychological sands
dotted with oasies of noise and dread knotted silence
and all too much sleep. Cement head waking
on the nines of every day. Trying to make a break
in the seems like its all one fantastically built wall
and every attempt is another attempt at another take.
Cement head waking to another solid steel mourning
a loss of a loss. What my eyes open up to.
More glass sucking up through
veins touching up to
limitations grown split through
and still trying to be one.
