the earth

ceased to turn

long ago

consciousness

ceased to turn you

fell unconscious

and started

in her to sprout

a bone

with no axis

corroded

by osteoporiss

corroded

and minced

like ground salt

she falls

from a thorn to a pole

from b flat to Aeolian mode

falls

in your weltschmerz

destitute and denuded

the stillness

of the collective brain

that looks like bunion

or a muddy brook

a flutter in the gutter

aber, ein moment mal

you have some gall

and never stolen

a word

how much advice you’ve given in all

is this how low you are willing to fall?