I roll in this cusp
a line sprouts from my
forehead
dawdling in thecup of a
parabola
a ball moaning back and
forth and
back and
forth in
graveyards sprung from
his hard hard hand
the buildings swallow
chew carefully to
remind you
silence peers back
curiously
tilts
his head
and you start to wonder
if you’ve become
[ ]
it was like she was haunted or something
