spatial recurrence of remorse

the littlespacesbetween
godandmearestuffed
bythebrownhardscrabbleofdirt.

on which are tilled
dying patches of land
on infinitesimal farms;
seeded, ploughed and
harvested by armies of
desire giving in.

i wait outside,
in my dejavu, a
l o n g
way from home.
counting the seconds
that must be pass before
time can coagulate into
the recent scar.

Band-aid farms born of

d
e
s
i
r
e

d

r

i n

k

of what is left of me.