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