m e t r o n i d a z o l e . . . .

VOS QUE

airliners shed sunlight
pierce heaving slight
the flit ghost lock

Tender there against the
adrenal temps

there are tempers of
madness dripping
the loose mind connections

shivers thin sheaves
tinfoil emollient

roam room rotations
and the steady moment
clarity like a thousand
foot fall opens up
like a smile

breathless on the floor
the cold pulse wake
flickering
its raining
thunder pouring
down through the
holes
draining down
against the soul

words seeping
from the texture of
the dreams
the nascent hair
of one pure arm
and a wrist
silvered encircled
a distant planets
ring in the haze

"he's awake...
i know he is.."

the moon
away
swimming

I swim
seeking