a drum that will never stop till the sheep’s skin slips off from sweat.
Bleating till its mouth goes dry,
Bleating till its sheared sick to the frame of a frail lamb.
Try to stand as skeleton legs tremble in cold grass and
as sickle blades graze rough pores-
Waiting for her kiss.
Gaze outwards past that blue horizon
And watch as your supernova’s inward collapse falls upon closed eyes
like a star with no constellation.