I feel nothing

Between the last time we spoke

and

now

there is

a gaping hole

of compacted seconds

I need more

space

before facing

the devil

loosed in the air.

what is here is now

feet

on

a rug

that does not cover the hole

forever gaping

underfoot.

They are running after

your brain

(mine, too)

and they have

caught it, holding it in their fists

a toy, your brain, mine, useful until

they throw it into the heap.

Feel something once a day

run away from them running after

so as not to sink

into

the

gaping hole.