THE DAY IS BLEACHED AND PALE 

A shiftless blue sky with 
No clouds, no shadows
This bowl of coffee rounds out the morning
Another place seems the same then
Seduction's suctions pull the air through
The light, a different caesura
Then the one fear makes falling
Which is visible
The face, the hands, the desire for closure
Breaks the surface
Mind inside glass
Repeats the inevitabilities
The echo loop fraternizes with fractures intact
Removes the smallness of reference and sign
Revels in this little library of a brain