there are crazy things
slipping through my grasp
down here in the
middle of my night
take them from me
if you
please
take them from me
the ceiling is an inky fabric
something
with drips and drams
of glade-white dragged
and
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
beings
slashing my inhumanity
from my grasp
and dropping it into
that six foot stale-earthen
hole i’ll never escape from
glb /// “vignettes I”
originally published 06/08/2016
going sideways 