who tries to sleep off the dreary waves.
You are all-encompassing, engrossing.
The sheets you toss off your death bed
wrap around the ankles of your lover.
She falls to the hard wood. Your lover
turns the sheets into colors.
Dying man with no wishes.
The lay of the land beyond
bed rest. Is there grey or a
wide landscape of bluegrass,
none know. Tear it from
magazines. Slowly...
Your narrator sees these
opinions before you. Orate.
Obfuscate just like a vampire.
Jump to the top left corner
of the ceiling. Those cobwebs
have dust in them. We have it now,
the scene: bed, wood, sheets, dust.
Where is this place exactly?
You leave it to the vultures.
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