Wasting disease

hear keys rattle inside ribs fingernails a breeze eyelashes
brittle
twisted light bulb filament. They call it a wasting disease but what they mean is
'what a waste.'
'What a waste.' Shoulders hang as wet laundry/

pegged up by forgotten sky. Where have you gone, sucked into dead space. The universe has
bitten into your hourglass sides, left a skin apple core. A cough of sand.

'No such thing as waste there are
no mistakes that's why my bins are full
of my ideas and I
enjoy my heartbreaks;'

Moths buzzing in head not a hope to
feed on if they could
just eat if they could
just eat if they could
just eat if they could
just eat if they could
just eat if you could
just eat swallow enough concentration to.
read. the. jaundice slashed page limbs have be
come. torn. out. falling from own story then spi.
ders. could drop between shaking teeth and drive
a silk sleigh towards something true

and right

feel a light
)()($&(*doctor's eyes spiralling out of blackness like drug dream spinning plate supernovae
stash all those 'it's not too late' into a
bag,
throw in cupboard
keep the comfort and sleepon
bones,
the falling rafters of a soul creating and simultaneously dissi p a t  I    n     g