The gods prefer

The sad soul

So as

To have someone

To sing for

It’s all

The self

Coming in

On

It’s self

The million to one

Forget-ability ratio

What a bet

It’s already gone

And I’m the millionaire

To one

Who reconsidered

And remembered

Today the sheet signed itself

A proclamation

With no author

No voice but it’s own

A sheet of rain, a sheet of voice

Drowning out the ink of words and letting them float back into the throat

By the process

Of reincarnated everything

The Long Countdown

it’s too late in the year

for a remedy

to dispel the facts as they surround us like barracudas

looking for a snack

it’s far too late

and the sun is nothing shorter than dead

nothing blacker than

her hair

staring at me

instead of her eyes

no one could say a thing

and I know this

‘cause no one did

And that’s all I needed to hear

For me to know

It’s time for me to turn my ticket in

And to

Give up the show

My witness is no longer needed

It’s time for hibernation

I can see the bear eyes closing

Slowly drifting in and out of here

Going back and forth

Between the living and the dead

Warm covenant of winter

Underneath and in the middle

A pile of consciousness snuggling

Rubbing noses against one another

Keeping the fur down

For my head

Loving sleep

Another answer for the quiet

Indispensable moon

That lets me dream in his bed

And curl between many downy sheets

Made from wheat, feathers, and foam

Until my eyes give

Up

All together