I'll sever this room from the old blue house,
sail it out to a coma sea.
I'll sleep on the bed,
sleep on the bed
of reeds until I am not me.
I'll fire my cares into the muddy gulf to be swallowed by the light.
As I curl up in marrow,
curl up in marrow,
be ignorant of the fight.
Flush,
flush the salt
of my wounds into the great beyond.
Where eels knit scarves and maps and scarves
and carve corridors.
When this window opens, I'll hurl myself at it
like an athlete off the moon.
I'll whip me with chemtrails and leave
the door open like a coward back too soon.
Like a coward
back too soon.
