A rhythm to the large beats / full
turn. Eyes left after buds,
whole scorched fields

frozen slick / dew-tipped black,
soot edges,

look I am looking too hard.
Red spider webbing veins.

//

Pollen of my annunciation
dusts this espresso.

I am worn
clean. Jittering
still. I am
what is left.

//

Nervous equilibrium w/ its alternate reading.