people in kernels
and dark straits.
you, my sunlit
trudge-

your world is not
important. light
makes you up
strange fish,

cramped up
oh god
like a headlit eye
come out to look

at your true beauty. i
am perplexed
into your

skin, a range
perhaps. it’s tiring
innit.

a blinding bullet of
blue lodges in my
reverse procedure.
i was a complex

child. how we like to
paint our miseries;
apart
from that