I just want to sit in the darkened room
dwell with the shade until I find my way
through the valley of the faces,
eyes boring down to the basin’s bleed.
I’m biting down hard on my arms now,
trying to find a way to export the pain
but the surfaces are missing,
the waterline has risen,
every contour a threshold in ribbons.
My mind is a carpet of dry grass
leaving me with a sense of unease.
I’m following the tracks of tumbleweed
because thoughts ride tails of upbraided leaves.
I’m reclining on the mattress of eggshells,
shards from the birth of a great disease,
the sickness gives me rest
I am stretched upon the crest
anointed with the tar of a virgin breath.