a perpetual jab

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

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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