sinew cord
plucked, an open-mouthed note 
stretched and wracked upon the straight and narrow 
tho unfurling,
and dishevelled
spake be the promises of paradise
by feel. 

a chorus of arrows in the rain
heart-bound

there are full orchestras that struggle their whole lives 
to play an ode to silence: 
bliss-struck, half parted lips 
at a sunrise of bathroom sink bleach 
and menthol cigarettes

strung out together 
living out wartimes in the lope 
in the low part of sine waves
high centered, and fading fast 
trying to catch the hot, freshly-shucked wax 
of a candle burned at both ends.
trying to frame those photographs of sleep paralysis demons 
getting closer in each frame 
but too terrified to pull the shutter 

stuck on the razor hot edge
of nothing. 

we re gone. 
and im too old to run now
tho I never lost my sea legs
;