Consumption

The morning eats away at the sun.

The grass is down and awful—in fear of waking bored.

Thoughts are not hashed out but hovelled

rolling out of hunger.

Catty talks are used as

clumsy ways to skip attention down the stairs.

The loose air in cans taste of tomorrow

more stocked away for rescue.

It is hard to knock away and

measure the slim length of words.

The repugnant newness is a curse

lying flat under the mattress.

But there is always a toilet around the corner

for draining out every spill.

Because water sucks out the mind.

Growth is treason.