Wanting old naivetes till the ankle folds
one foot sideways
a given fuck flat and quietish
Rotting fish gas would shimmer
over pavement heat
By the Coop
the skin on the back of his head
thumbprint peels as mine was
an empty paper cup wetted by half-arsed rain
What glisters in eye’s milk but
splinters of non-
Today: temperate me.
Fingers equal digits.
Civil pile on of vertebrae
by crenelated church skirt
