Saturday, February 29, 2020


what kind of rest
do you expect to get
at all

what sort of recompense
for passing which state
of remoteness

when there is no bat
no rodent
no owl stirring

no moonlight silver
water lapping
against a cistern wall

with no lush
canopy overhead
no dense carapace

how is a body supposed
to zip itself up
for a bit

to stall infinity
between two blinks
of armistice

to see only the pureness
of the ink and not
the words written in it

to pull its head off
and push it
off into the black

stream of that
same ink
on the pillow of oblivion

and then turn around
without guilt
and forget