In offset
We enter sleep
with toes curled
colliding with dawn

We could talk about cancer.

The baby that died.

The smile on your face as you watched the leaf float on the river.

The grinding of teeth.

Why those shoes won't fit.

Being alone.

The death of commitment.

perhaps there is some dryness, the long mental dull coming to, peeling off.

Where is there a day when I can relax? I think of you, rotting in my bed, I scream for you to rise. Live! Why isn't my love an inspiration? Are you truly there to die? 

No one is here anymore, this feels like the right place.

...like you were some prize that should be the adornment of my hard work and intention.

LJ, you've given me some odd memories.

But I think it's time to shit can it all.

I have little experience in dealing with meth heads.  There was never a meth problem in Detroit as far as I can remember; it was always crackheads and junkies.  Let me tell you, crackheads and junkies are a nuisance compared to tweakers

an atrocity,
Our Birth.
an unspoken
concomitiance
Grope therapy
black cloud permission
utters nothing
but peanuts with blackberry
seeds,
the dust of syrup and
cinnamon
(the buds of heaven
unmine) flesh
at dinner.

I am standing in a pit of diamonds
so easily cast by the earth
knowing only time
is the object of value

Keep breathing.