dried

longing and exhaustion
tell a story of
nowness that could
not be told any faster
than the time it takes
a yawn to crawl out of
her throat into the
air of i don't care,
reeking bad breath
from an empty stomach
caffeine head
and dizzy spells
detangling
themselves
into a messy room
where eyelids
wait for instructions
on what to do next
fingers are pendulums
of counterclocks
and wise
nonetheless
confess
her feelings
to no one
for they are not hers
they are figments of
half-assed analysis
the heart is a muscle
that operates like
the cunt:
dehydrated it
becomes frail;
it wills itself to fail.