DRENCHED

and the living and the dead hang from my

the new lead seems to speed away from

into the breach of the preaching and bleach

this is the time to start apart now from

other side so that the slide may start like

where the blood pulses in ordinary

mortals but not in me 

among the very lowest of the dead

what is absorbed in it what is captured

in the inhaling and in the baling

pounding its own chest spaced on like...

away from the allotments

oil-drenched birds and we

know we know we know these protestations are fake

the waiting is

the worst part

and then it never starts does

it and the recycling is all that

can be done 

as though the pair of hands is

and the pity

it was the kindest thing

onto the pavement will lead to somewhere inevitably

coffee because it is impossible

butterflies as they flit so much faster

the observer the eternal loafer