All the decked-out souls are streaming from a crack in the ground
and as they slide slide slide out of dry rock
the jagged edges catch their flaws and strain out leftover thoughts like a colander.
Then I went from stand, to sit, to stand, to lay, to sleep.
I want to be in the words you read, the air you breathe, the ground you cover,
and the life you lead.
There's no fear with you.
You make the apocalypse look like cardboard.
You make the clouds look self-conscious
You've inhaled me and exhaled a poem
and now it's written all over my face.