Cornflower blue covered capsules
They turn the axles now
I know that you’d be scared too
If you surfed a furrowed brow

I could love the rain more if
I wasn’t made of wooden bones
And I would love me more if
I didn’t have such a fragile soul

so
         so
                 bored of the
         same old
same old.
all is grist,
I'd call it a grift too.
all of it,
from the womb to the lichgate,
the womb and the lichgate included.

hope is about as high
as a sink full of dishes.
my only relief from anything
comes from staring at stars,
knowing I'll have to
endlessly relive this.
entropy lent at interest.