K i n s e y C a n t r e l l —

circling

set simply, said

with caveat a broken

seaglass kinda thing you know? rolled under

surface, sanded down, forgot

about it for

years but

now it’s back and i never

seem to be able to return it

to its place

*

should i go? no

answer, protrude

past the corners of this

derivative feeling as

a small something

smoldering, lying

scratchmarks on

paper surveys

*

so

if you were to i were to

it’s hard to get used to

the way everything dulls

with repeated exposure

circling

stop slop and split

my headings relent i nervous

tic and count my

winnings in effort, spent            sky low, sky brittle

the image splinters, lolls

into my field of vision               i coalesce

lines and rashes sent

into misgiving                           the warp of window

manifestos for seven types of hours

in kind my auditory hallucinations

auras?                                       back to

my field of vision                       the peripheral

wanes                                       besieged by memory

of rot, recrudescence

decays around me

memory map

.