16:9 - Pine Grove

Hand over hand

I’m pulling myself together

On this itchy couch again

I’d pull you in

But

I couldn’t help thinking

Or

My mouth was tarpaulin

Let me start again:

I didn’t mean to say so

Much about my plans

So you see my hand

See?

It’s never either/or now

Stigmata ampersand

The morning is the self it’s self evident

A clattering of blinds

A mimetic wind

A sympathetic tremor I’m

A tessela of signs

O I close my eyes and

Fractal inner rings of varicose resign

Coiled dark inside

I’ll open my eyes and clear my

Throat when I know it’s time