Not the full bell. Yes
okay the full bell.
One good one left, which
was a honed one once
wither the hand's watch.
Not due liberty, not
off with the fringe that.
Congeniality attendant.
Recidivist of the heart,
nonesuch sustainable
as the roof, no paper
or draught, no kidneys,
ovaries, lungs, thumbs.
We quite mean, love.
More bad olives, and
pretty sure picking
through clavicle thinner
on the left than it once was.
To the seafaring life:
not. Not yet, at least.
We rise: swell. Fall too.
Night gasp, whole chest
a sweat slick. Detritus
of one room life, time left.
Stones and staves,
a place with no hallways
but ad hoc rooms attached,
differentiated ceilings.
Stone, thatch, styrofoam
tile. I accrue a lot, like
everyone, such that I
have got more than I need
to leave this high school
of infinity, and yet do not.
