drunk on words poured from bruised lips
that only part to breathe once in a while.
i'd like to observe your technique
as you attempt to peel me off of this ceiling,
or whether you choose to fight, defy gravity
and join me. no nets below to catch us
(or the moon, whom i met one night
half way up the sky on our way to morning).
what if you could be convinced of the verity
of my world? shown charcoal fingers,
self inflicted from ingrained moth-like tendencies?
i could cough up the grit and dust of ages
settled in small dunes inside these lungs.
compelled to the flame casting light
dissolving shadows as we go. lift the lid
and flip your eyes. outrun the devils
grasping at our heels with greedy hands
and impale upon our middle fingers the nihilists
intent on waving their hypotheses of nothingness
in our fuck you faces from up here
pinned to the ceiling of a room with no walls.