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
