nietzsche

sewers.

out the front door
walking
black asphalt
you see me
through the street signs
your eyes
everywhere

i think the sun
has burned your visions
right through me
skin itch red and pink
the children run now
from me, away
a demon they say,
a witch.

slow now
64 and lower
barred greenfield(s)
engine paralysis
things just creep
a little bit less
but the spiders
still nest
in these lung closets.
breathe in-
they crawl out.

a little louder
i'm just a sound astronaut
you're my speakers,
just a space healer
with no patience to cure.

forget
a little harder
writing always typed
grammatically sound
yet irrational at best

green monster
come to mother
lick the oiled spoon
and say grace.

there's blood in my hair again.

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