the earth rolls over
careless for the most part
the same
variations
in tone and reflection
what’s hidden remains
a city’s collapse its
patterns of arrangements
entirely
with movement being what it is
take heart and rejoice
nights toil upon us
wanes without our knowing
what it means
to be here the the of fissures
conversations held with ourselves
rehearsed by what forthcoming
in which we get someplace
or another
overwhelmed are we
in containment
the repeated memory of
making a different decision
when reaching for your belt
seems a better way
I’ll
trace your skeleton
one hundred times a day
taste your eyeballs or any
part else that leaks
caught in conjunctions
give us
a little time
for some words between us
a little time to wait
give us
time for our hands
to make some occupation
a little time to put off
what must be done
time to give way to what
time we have to get us to