The Hair Pillow

Veins and a rope. Gold hair wrung out. Laughing. From back of the

sheep-shack,

a high bleat hum. Veins map the hair pillow. Strung out. I'm sleeping.

Its the kind

of a nap, though, you don't wake from. Sky of gold. Pink and lazy in

pond I lay.

Take it slow. Drunk and crazy in a pond I lay.