I have too much of the moon in me,

Her exposure elicits my cravings.

In order to subsist I must burn

Yet I cannot shake these doubts

That wear me down to ash.

My failures read without introduction.

I am lost, perhaps absent, certainly unwilling.

I am without consistency or echo.

When was the last time you had

A conversation that didn’t involve regurgitation?

When was the last time your eyes

Were regarded with certainty?

The wolves are tugging at my elbows.

There is no poultice that can soothe

My aggravation and no authority

That I have not assembled against.

Do not tell me why “should” or how “to”

Just let me live, a crumb bludgeoned

To perfection by a slick grey tongue.