At the moment I am too busy imagining a structure
              to speak to the abbess Knocking on this sheet metal door
              though she is, breathing
              I can hear her breathing between raps.
              Too hungry (aspiration comes freely to me) and
              luckily concealing all of it the audacity but spells come out 
              in the way I regard her
              locks and darkness of ombre (how I imagine it, in retrospect, in
              obliquity of the ecliptic in antiquity,
              in the  mirror in a back seat drenched in wet gold, shrugging and sandy, a patch of wet on my cloth seats, is what I imagine
               
              
               Luckily I cannot be
              found at dawn like you
              were shivering unblanketed
              cool limbs draped like something soft, merino, pressing upon my shoulders, wakeless and almost formless, declining around me
              
              Considering my colour I imagine again
              and breathe for me
              
              my
              Brother and sister make me  make the 19:27 echo and throb the lights are all off but the power is so on
              I need a perfect angle
              
              Murmurs again at the door
              Silently I lie, curled. I am in every season in fifteen minutes
              While the locksmith works
              
              Wrapping myself around the rim of the underside of my bed
              forearm against the floor
              Looking upwards and carving
              an extension of you
              with a breakfast knife

              
          

fifteen minutes ago i found myself stepping and considering myself in a snow globe world, towers around me. I can't tell if it's solace or penance