|
In the morning I pack up my gear |
|
and toss it in my carryall |
|
Run the wide load to the lip |
|
and watch the big core crack and glow |
|
In the evening I undo my belt |
|
Split open and melt |
|
I wake up on my stomach |
|
with my face between my hands |
|
and crawl along the floor toward the doorway |
|
Jumping to my feet |
|
I try to put myself together |
|
but I feel it in my knees |
|
and the room begins to spin |
|
and I slip and bump my head and raise a welt |
|
Split open and melt |
|
We breathe deep |
|
in a steam dream |
|
and plunge below the water line |
|
down, down, down |
|
between beams |
|
to the gloom room |
|
among the seaweed and the slime |
|
down, down, down |
|
Melt |
