an opium bath to seize my quivering pores

the memory shoots through my veins like the coldest lightning bolt (crown)

distant lovers roam the halls of my cranium

forty-eight silt filters under a pile of bones

please belie me with such haste

so mundane it dissolves like brittle stone

about to fall asleep perceiving extra dimensions

crawling through brimstone like a fire slug praying for incinera (throat)

everytime i look at the clock it seems to read the same number