The dose is finding form
it crept out of the dawn
the salt eye in the wind
upturned the bed and senses soared.
There are patterns in the chasms
and I don't feel like cleaning
I've been jabbed and sold a rag stuffed with an army of green fibers
I've been thinking more of clinging -
it's been such a long time with me
like a jet-stream summer crying
The breached banks
call the heron
whose angle manifests
it's pleading with the world in a bid to get some rest.
The shots are pouring down, the throats are in their mouths
the East is up
and I'm so lucky
for healed ground
I've been drinking in the winning -
it's been such a short time with me
no more equanimity.
Joel Schueler © 2021