tied off

blame the wrinkled fog is

knob thrusting from yr fore

head holds the crusted

horror from yr toast and

glands ,heavy scrawling

in your coffeed inexplanation

,blame the lists of crum

pled arms and illumination

sores ,starving bones in

garbage blinding texts of

gristle and plastic your

open path toward swirling

light was muddied in the

bed's groaning months

- name what's sinking in

the mirror your thudding

comprehension of what

at last's begun ,or gone

over the air ,a string