unbuttoned collar  and    

toad    busted     

days i think 

out in the wood 

taxed delicate eating

or soft politics of

death groan 

or bomb falling 

oak or twin lit elegy 

the reeds of work

a mess in earlier past 

cleaned out 

bent in music 

creep violet to the sun 

a repetition     made

in my body     waiting to co-

mitt   the hand to something un pronounced 

the back          a lone country 

with no streets  

to be seen        the gallows

of a door      vulnerable    that won't close

but what if i go missing

what soft noise i make       this