type the hype
of blank poetry
for the morning is
restless and obscure
as we
question
tight lines stretched across
pale horizons
and
wager
change within
obscure astrological signs

uncommitted
we stroll through
various forms of interpretation
as we
amplify
passion between
cold sheets
and
salvage
the solace
of empty souls

solid citizen
hungry and
waiting at the door
as we
zero
out the
infinite sums
and
xerox
the nebulous memories
of forgotten storms

i’m a word-man
better than a third-man
forget the tired endings
and let it rest here