it's unsleepable Thursday

and i eat an apple

over the sink. 		tonight,
			every molecule of air

			grew its mandibles.

			they almost teach
		my skin the meaning

of constellation

			as they teethe pink
	welts into my forearms.
		i’d itch them off,
		but tonight i’m too busy

wondering what sinewy
			havoc purrs—coiled
and lipless—at the bottom


	of my drain.

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