bedroll and nape

the author is free to make narcissus dislocate
from his bedstead narcotic—
a demon of countless bitter decanters

he is both limber and in rigor
in bedroll and nape
with a perpetual jab

a wrecker among the dislocated galaxies
folding the hole in the sky

What I’m Reading:

“When a mother dies, everything you’ve given to her comes back to you. Now the tea pots line up on my mantel like grief.”

— Victoria Chang / Dear Memory