A suede tongue flicks a gripping pill,

a yo yo machine for the tides of an acid school,

and marks the seconds like a list,

memories are ploughed and never forgive.

Blinks are berserk and dry.

 

Vitruvian -

Cobra coiled wrists punch

circus pulses, automated, and wait

for a whisper. Born mad, the hope

is fatigue, knowing the senses

are as sharp and as clear as glass

 

but not as still. 4 am – neither

here nor there, noise is paramount

and unfair,

the will drips relentless

and burns the eyeball

 

a little too loudly. Somewhere,

beyond the window sill,

people sleep in peace,

not tall enough to reach over,

here, the shadows stain the face.