i swallowed myself,
four or five-years-addicted,
on the top of a mountain:
i've darkened enough circles
for this and etched enough
stone; i found that i was quickly
growing cold and disenchanted
with my eventual home.
someone like this silly-hat-
wearing-woman used to whistle
with a tight testimony, sharper
and heavier than the instruments
hummed drummed strummed
beside and behind her, she was
the optimum.
and what if she leaves?
what if she takes this season
out from beneath me and
forces my hair to take root
in the under-garbage which
keeps
our
Earth
...round?
and what if she leaves?
