gutters glimmer in the shake
of god’s fingers when he is
silent like when your silent
Rainbow Body is wandering
among the graveyards of my hair
and the anti-bacterial cream
spreads gravity tears across
the cheap sheets that get too hot
on summer nights and I know
no better taste than
the grace of time’s tender
trivialities: every card is
another joker, another runaway
spade sacrificed for the Queen

still,
every morning i suck the salt
off my own fingers and when i
fall back asleep i am holding
my own hand.