Coffee robs me, again,
teeth clenched at first light
to test out these projections
same night time visions;
I’m curled up with anemones.
Aptness moves in the balance
engaging in feuds
harbors lonesome beliefs.
Or, apprise the contours of a room,
you can hear a downstairs couple
lost in endless argument. I listen,
but I’m so weary of their logic,
I must have cash on the dollar,
an eagles‘ beak clenched
around branches and arrows.
I still test mayhem in curves,
sights and sounds, remaining,
the memory is a ghost of itself:
it’s daubed in blue ink forever.
Image via Pixabay
The Cabinet of Heed 