it takes long so
mystic becomes streetlights where day used
to come a bird on the fence
is banded elsewhere
notness grows into you
washing my neck in the dark
I said I’d see no
nothing but meant
I’m with the mud and can’t
walk inside or ruin it
imagine it’s like
what you beg for when you shouldn’t
mix insomnia with your other abyss
you tell yourself you’ll pay for it we’re
always paying
for what we thought
inheritance would be
though the mail still comes on Saturdays
our neighbor is thinking of slaughtering
his rooster