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.