ENTWINED WITH THE DEPRESSION OF BIPOLAR PERMANENCE

Your marrow, like arctic sun— godless

In metallic light— you chatter inside dishes

At dinner, soft clinks tied to echoes of a moths beaten Wings, gasping behind blinds like you,

Later somewhere surrendering to dust As it settles on faint breath your head just tearing The surface of life outside the skin of rich flesh.

Lungs grip air in thin streams,— a rush Of birds circles inside the fatal trunk of your own body— Murmuring

Of wicked horizons the coiled life Found still— rolled tightly and tied With silk.

Dark milk thickens like crux in the eye, Some halo of fire gives birth to your head

A choir bends the body with her tidal Force and squeezes— It has always been this way.

Bloodhounds haunt high fires near earth’s shallow edge, Their sirens reach between sunk wake and sleep. A light in the kitchen says somebody’s home

And it’s you. You when no one can hear That damp sour run—

The running yourself to death on coasts Of cold smoke.