black tracks

all i do is bite nails, sculpt blu-tack, suckle tea and agonise over which earrings to wear today/tomorrow/yesterday/tonight. i snap split ends and drill gorges and tunnels in my cauliflour head:




watching a species live by and by the clocks and ties and i spy...though the tram window. with disorientating eyes something starting with why.

??
??

are you wearing an ego today?
will you play coights with that doughnut?
how will that nourish you...that screen...how will it?
where are you going to stick that knitting needle?
where will you flick that twitch?
stitches will unravel...coats, hats, gloves.

doves die and my spying eye is reluctant to roll, to shutter

to cry.