crawling through brimstone like a fire slug praying for inci...

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

an opium bath to seize my quivering pores

so mundane it dissolves like brittle stone

about to fall asleep perceiving extra dimensions

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