you're the drop and pivot
to this drone. the panic erotic
against this drafting.
only appetite between. space
that gathers edges and amounts
to cloud, the impossibility
of another description. I fear and
hope on the scraping edge.
you're what starts and bends
these trips. here's my breath:
a dull habit, a freudian
reflex. what words taken
in plane rides--blurs on an
old photograph--figure
in force and forceless.
