your skin is host

to a thousand vomiting mouths

you are sitting up straight

you are

       s

        h

       a

        k

       i

        n

       g

sweating lightly

tiny muscles

pop

shudder up

and die of their urging
One of my austere heroes

told me this shuddering

is a Hydrogen Bloom.

consider it a reward

for it is after days of shaking

that we sit in brown armchairs

and watch home the clouds.
                it is our quiet work
Walking down our busy Barry Street

regarding it sweetly

thinking only of the cosmic cowboys in our hearts

we send green beams of prayer into strangers’ chests

we send brilliant texts to cordelia crosbie;
            life is this constant thing of thinking it will be like this

            but then it actually being like that
i hope she will reply, bro,  you shot through to the in-itself 







but she just replies a simple
            i like this 
and i think, yes
  me too
                                                      i like this










                                                                    middle place

 





            where the floor







                                        never 
                                                          stops







                                                                          falling








                                                                                      away