Seasick with the swing of things,
I smoke my old emotions in
the cool clear spring and
startled sparrow morning.
Hands all dealt and bets placed
I fold without following suit,
hungers never sated, all save
shadows forsaken in these
figures scribbled deep,
preamble set to the fine tooth of
first principles, the ladder to
heaven left leaning against
the eaves, gutters glutted
with abundant leaves.
Uncertain are the words that
make up all these wishes,
a voice only ever ached after,
conclusion and concussion
the same in this volatile skull,
a door slammed shut,
garlands dying upon your altar.