grains of idolatry
tooth-split and mulched 
spit down into living beds 
cemeteries of words
nere uttered in forgiveness. 

falling 
in slow motion 
like marine snow 
sustaining 
but out of resentfulness 
out of spite
falling
to emulate life: 

there is breathing, certainly 
and dreaming 
and this 
ashen sustenance 
but to call it living might be a farce 
might be a reluctance to leave 
an old and crackling skin 
sloughed long ago but re entered 
out of habit
as if it still fits.