wake up.

he had to buy groceries
with a bleached skull:

teeth clacked with plaque
and gnashed the vegetables
which leapt like martyrs
into the jar, blurting steam like
smoke from grass which
nuzzled his spine before
on the hill where he
and she resided—

(she told her children she wept milk,
to explain the clouds. fingers grew roots
which nestled in separate soil. he fumbled
down his hill of words.)

“i had lifted her veil with a low moan,
hers i mean. but it was too dark, too dark,
i couldn’t see. she told me it was smeared,
and i heard the shush of the springs,
but i was still alone, and i asked her.
my tie was killing me, i swear.
why do we bother with it, what does it mean?
so i tore it off, and the mirror broke,
and that’s all i remember, us being young.”

(the stars festered with eyeless stares.
sirens were stuffed into gramophones.)

—he saw the hole in the ceiling:
grey men stood shook spoke left
but there was nothing to do about it,
only the knots of smoke curved
the ragged edges and sterility of the sky,
muttered the furniture away.

he tore threads from the carpet and none of them connected:
anything to stifle his beating bell mind