Drunken Poetry and Old Ugly Bones in a Capsized Dawn

like a baby in the vagina of the sun
i have given up much to be still
you old rag, you have washed me
the blood from my finger tips
and the old ghost in my heart
that creeps slowly through the dark
into my nostrils, to keep my breathing
with lungs of darkness, inhaling the despair
and calling it love