adjustments to the matrix of surds

a road swerve from a dead nerve put a crease in my tangent so my best dent got bent

and my heart was rent and my heart was rent my heart’s rent my best heart rent

i took my fist off the list spat in my hand tilted across room and whacked my head against the rack of doom

i drank ungodly amounts of cheap red wine and burned late my eyes on the cheap cold fire

i filled my crack with bee’s wax and still could not relax

lowering lowering
into the milk of sleep
the cradle hiss of a sheet of noise
visits me most suggestively

hovering hovering
twixt curdled sea and teated cloud
it occurs to me most subtly
a pixel shift could cure my rented heart