THE  27Th  EDITIOn

I feel the drowning in my ears, again, 

the fog in my lashes, the slug-like acid in my brain; 

I feel things are getting bad, again. 

How sleep escapes me and fruitlessly haunts me while I 

all the restless to stop it or fall heavy and      cold. 

Things are getting bad again, and it’s not like it’s easy 

to surrender or figure out why. I wish I knew 

Why. 

But lately, my eyes are closing, my ears are clogging up, 

So much time in cocoon-harvested state; 

So little time to stretch out when I am pinned to this corkscrew board. 

I feel myself subject to the impasse of time, yet again, 

All but waiting 

  slowing 

       too far gone. 

And when it is past, I won’t even know what hit me all along; 

But underwater I can smell this dying breath like sulfur, 

The one that has been strangling my veins like mold. 

​

Things are getting bad again, 

When your body is not a home.