On a bathroom floor in
Europe, anonymous and white,
I threw myself down between the shower and the door.
There were voices in the other room:
. . . . did you hear?
My soul is lost somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean;
I think it slipped out in a dream, it must have –
Usually I'm careful with it,
. . . . so damn careful…
Another morning arrives within a swarm of clouds,
And stomachs carved hollow, and the crackling dread
That snaps at my ankles daily, and you…
. . . . I am so sick without you.
(notes: please ignore the punctuation used to put in indents. QuickEdit is a bitch.)