again i recede into my hairline
rapture is a two hour refrain
from the song i call my little grain
two husked skulls/ rinsed and drained
energies rightly do me in and nightly
i wonder why trigeminal nerves
fractal leaves what dance in the peripheral
even the fence moves as i hold my own face
bitty progress and i'm milking the landline
calling all but the local piss rags
then its a few Shaq-sized steps
back not moon-walking babe
i am like a cup of rice
bloating in the stopped up sink
i am mainly extraneous and
bound like by coffee grounds
i lose my nutritious value
and gather at the bottom again
the drug which works to a point
has me losing hair and swells my joints
its predecessor made my guts queasy
and woke me like my elders to piss nights
fifteen minutes forgetting
in the car say or walking
movements maketh the pain
peripheral and intermittent
slaving with great pots at work
makes pain seem in-existant
maybe i shld carry my couldron
some blocks and write u again
