my sated neuroses, your weighted dice:
you thought we’d outgrow this, didn’t you?
silly girl, I’ll sink you! I think you
know that from my sapling oak hubris
i have carved my bed anew;
now let me lie
in peace (as if peace could be what awaits
sweet girls with buzzing bees up to their
heaving with the effort
implicit in the old, cold ritual, the
coiling and uncoiling of the
knots in my back and my path.