As meaningless as the piss
currently streaming steaming into my mouth—
the great ghost of becoming
gives up.
Night night. I sleep underneath
the bed with the secrets and dust.
Brutalist church made of dried
shit—the poem writes itself
on paper made of steam. Night
time on the soundstage (get up
and get a beer from the fridge),
soon we enter the dark night of the soil.
Caleb Jordan is an autistic poet from Oklahoma.
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