I am done.
human, Divine, or geographic.
It could just be me, or the way you look at me,
or the way I’ve been thinking my
Thoughts that sound like the whirring of shiny black insects.
Thoughts without currency, without power, without blood.
Thoughts I can’t stand to be alone with.
I am listlessness. I am torpor. I am done
with dying in this place
of dry imagination.
I need to move
before I start
If I should ever resolve to leap.
Don’t say a word.
Just pray for me.
Pray for courage, pray for rain.
Pray for a jasmine scented wind
and the banishment of
Then close your eyes and
imagine a cloud
of shiny black insects that
startled by thunder,
warm night air.