draft of work in progress

DAY-THE-VERGE

for days the ceiling was racing
and the silhouettes clung to seance
the wind champed at their scornful habits
dangling a snowflake over the edge of a mirror

manholes stood on ladders to see
a rocket fail to ignite itself from off a sundial
while a slim coitus of wands held the room current
must I exist in these saliva-tidal breaths

fever chalks the roofs where
I imagine my venom is at home
all the figures tidy in their thimble poses
it's like pricking your finger with lambs

how shall I keep when oceanmere falls
everywhere lying idle or exile I sigh

/
so shall I keep when oceanmere falls
wide shall I hide when oceanmere falls
hail shall I hide /  halt shall I hide
then shall I hide when

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