centrifugal

i get high
write shitty poetry
by myself
under the moon
a cloud of startear smears
across the screen
in the steady tapping
to the emptiness
that fills me
in its own
impossibility

i get drunk
compose simple sonnets
to you
as the room
spins a vertiginous whirlpool
through my brain
as i weave
the subsonics of heartbled
longings
that shudder through
my centrifugal desire

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s