Vignettes I

Vignettes I

There are crazy things
Slipping through my grasp
Down here in the
Middle of my night
Take them from me
If you
Take them from me

The ceiling is an inky fabric
With drips and drams
Of glade-white dragged
Snow-blue splattered
Jagged cuts and stabs and scrapes

Blazing sunlight screams through
Every opening it finds
Pulling with it
Dazzling visions
That I will reach for
But never grasp

Hazy collapsing over
Brilliant razor-sharp
Slashing my inhumanity
From my grasp
And dropping it into
That six foot stale-earthen
Hole I’ll never escape from


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