the milk, once spilled
The day breaks in its old half-hearted way, bright in cusps and pardons. It clings to the borders and fills in the gaps with its blustered over abundance. The sun rises, another day begins. I forget what happens next.
The heat endures, another day of summer slowly undone. That sweep of light and fever, those secrets of sweat and ache. I watch the shadows stretch, the east enduring that inevitable leaning towards the west. The light flattens and intensifies, blunt and unrepentant. It has its say in these glistening salty traces of flesh and languor, and lays itself out bare before the hungering dusk.
I watch, sick by design and neglect. Each dose is a fresh tide, each dose a sullen tongue keeping its own lone counsel. I await the stars and the owls, the prowling and the skulking, the dismal unappreciated ease of the world without. I watch, eyes failing, all motive and little crime.
The day breaks in its old half-hearted way, bright in cusps and pardons. It clings to the borders and fills in the gaps with its blustered over abundance. The sun rises, another day begins. I forget what happens next.
The heat endures, another day of summer slowly undone. That sweep of light and fever, those secrets of sweat and ache. I watch the shadows stretch, the east enduring that inevitable leaning towards the west. The light flattens and intensifies, blunt and unrepentant. It has its say in these glistening salty traces of flesh and languor, and lays itself out bare before the hungering dusk.
I watch, sick by design and neglect. Each dose is a fresh tide, each dose a sullen tongue keeping its own lone counsel. I await the stars and the owls, the prowling and the skulking, the dismal unappreciated ease of the world without. I watch, eyes failing, all motive and little crime.