boil ,when the sleeves if
,empty ,the closet's hang
ers ,limp ,but dimly
clanking or the knee ,de
pantsed ,gleaming on the
floor ,your ,if opened
,scissors walking up the
bed ,with sawdust sa
gged ,filled ,with's gluey
blood the forgotten
fork ,holds the sky ,un
der the mattress ,the
dreamless bone
