16:9

Hand over hand
I’m pulling myself together
On this itchy couch again
I’d pull you in
But
I couldn’t help thinking
Or
My mouth was tarpaulin
Let me start again:
I didn’t mean to say so
Much about my plans
So you see my hand
See? It’s never either/or now
Stigmata ampersand
The morning is the self it’s self evident
A clattering of blinds
A mimetic wind
A sympathetic tremor I’m
A tessela of signs
O I close my eyes and
Fractal inner rings of varicose resign
Coiled dark inside
I’ll open my eyes and clear my
Throat when I know it’s time