Powdered dreams I can take looking up during sleep, pine trees and white buildings, flowers crying the rain does fall,
Cleft, tattered, morsel of a man left
Hole filled, empty, and spillage
Where I might live, little teeth, bated breath.
Where words take you gently along with them, staircase, tower of words
Remarks, plastic bottles. Regarded paper soggy weight and twisted spines, hang your furniture from the ceiling, lay on the floor, turn out the lights and listen to them spin.
Because I am already dying.