Mornings Are Fine

And then by noon I’m thinking all about bones

All about which ones stick through skin which ones

Skin the surface and pierce and which ones lodge themselves,

In pudgy dimply clumpy fat that nobody really looks at since

Nobody really looks nobody really looks because they all see

And now it is one ish and I’m contemplating whether or not I should

Eat or die or eat then die or eat so much that I die or die then eat

And then by eight I always wanted to be your angel

Haloed and glistening, hyalite-like transparent enough to

Gleam only in the way you can when there’s nothing in you or

Alternatively are whole of atoms that only reproduce in repetition

Carbon copies of external emissions of destruction

Lined up like poplars

And now it is midnight

The world is not ending

The dark cannot swallow

It is a disparate edifice

The one that is known

In the dark

Known swallowed by

Itself like ceilings are

To religion

It is fistfuls of mud

Faces flat in streams of

Muddy water flipped over

Eyes full of what eight aye em

Would describe as an earthly

Jewel chartreuse but emerged

All I see is that

At last I am your angel

I am your angel all

Haloed and glistening

Hollowed out to be filled

That is all that this is that

Is all that this is that is all

That this knows how to do

Until dawn

Until dawn

Until

Until I am effulgent disintegrations of

Starbursts, emanating the way,

(That only I know)

How do emulsify and move through time

And space which holds hands

Like old lovers flicking past

In scarves in the bright early

Light of the morning