The Hair Pillow
Veins and a rope.
Gold hair wrung out.
Laughing.
From back of the sheep-shack, a high bleat hum.
Veins map the hair pillow.
Strung out.
I'm sleeping.
Its the kind of a nap, though, you don't wake from.
Sky of gold.
Pink and lazy in pond
I lay. Take it slow.
Drunk and crazy in a pond
I lay.