A gentle rage hearkened my rise
with a face, well known.
Glistening the morning, the large trucks,
taking the compost home.
Following me with figurative flair.

Touch me tomorrow, or I will be there.
Fondle my heart
with those mechanized hands,
gripping me-
in hypnotic measures of rhythm.

The bass;
it plays a suggestive harmony while
the drummer;
echoes his song in my brain.

Taken by the lost, kept by the unwilling.
What else matters?

Push me down, comfort here.
Under the ground
with those that crawl as
low as my ability lets

Seeing the world spin
faster through your glasses.
My eyes hurt, knees weak.
Head torn.

Breathing lackadaisical memories.
Finding an even deeper reflection of this girl,

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