the headaches have grown migraine branches
twigs of nauseaura probing deep into my brain
the dim christmas bulbs somehow achingly bright
i know the wisdom in shutting eyes in dark spaces
but i’d rather suffer pain than boredom
i’m trying to shrink the fallout of a religion
into a pill small enough for narrow throats
indulge me: the techniques are rebounding
into resounding failure and the toeholds i find
are slippery, resisting my attempts to grip
my allowance has been cut and dried
i drink from cups set aside in the rain
we give each other so many gifts
knowing the one thing we both need
is immaterial, priceless, unbuyable
o deliver me i could cry out to something
from the overblown agony of a head
so full of glass shards as to cut thought
down to ribbons in any color but blue
at least, at least i showed up to work today
mattress dungeon 