RUNNING

Inch by

inch,

The room closes

in.

Loose clothes

and tight smiles.

Sell me another

no,

sell me the other yes,

the one that just says go—

says I can do it without blinking.

gin and ink,

believe in my veins,

the lies and sin will be the neighbor

smiling at me as I wave.

I’ll boil something up and out

don’t I believe it;

or perform my own exorcism.

Mice and nails, homeless playing dice and

cold hand rails, nothing ails me

except the weather setting,

nothing excites me more than

a dimmed room.

Stillness of rocks, stillness of the window sill

even though the shore breeze is blowing.

Nothing is moving except the temperature within myself.

Slow beating of another tempo I use to bring me

down to the ground, lowering of the sound,

down and down.

Insides hot and outsides submerged.

Do I let it bleed over

or ice and pressure?