Depression

I have gone into my eyes bumping against sockets that sing smelling the evening from under the sun where waterless bones move toward their rivers in incense. a piece of light crawls up and down then turns a corner. as when drunken air molts in beds, tumbling over blankets that cover sweat nudging into sheets continuing dreams; so i have settled in wheelbarrows grotesque with wounds, small and insistent as sleigh bells. am i a voice delighting in the sand? look how the masks rock on the winds moving in tune to leave. i shed my clothes. am i a seed consumed by breasts without the weasel's eye or the spaniel teeth of a child? 2 i have cried all night tears pouring out of my forehead sluggish in pulse, tears from a spinal soul that run in silence to my birth ayyyy! am i born? i cannot peel the flesh. i hear the moon daring to dance these rooms. O to become a star. stars seek their own mercy and sigh the quiet, like gods.