If you can count I will live on the head of a pin or on its point where the rent is cheaper Antipas won three break points at Tiberias stadium, the dead in their coracles, chagrined underneath it’s too late to cry I poured away the milk the sink’s throat’s ugly gurgling saliva slick at the side of your mouth where every day betrayal sleeps The wind rails at everything that stands to oppose it fly screens stammer the blue-bottle’s sermon drone confused how it got to this enclosing side through the criss-cross interstices enticed by slow decay that noxious pyrethrum smell as if a field of daisies died to kill a lost insect
