i am
cold, under-u
tilized.
my tongue
tastes of copper:
the under-
side shines
with heavier elements.
the skull in my head
‘s rounder; some-
where there
‘s a green thread
knows why.
the wire night
stretches on
and bed
‘s as yet
unbidden.
all tea
‘s too weak.
kettle
‘s already lied twice.
i’ve thrown stones.
still no word.
so: dissolve the fissures.
so: swallow the spade.
photograph by flickr user Lady Vervaine
