because id rather not visit the wrinkling eyes, eyes glued with salt turning to dripping sand. to depend on frozen blueberries in the early hours, for their welting skin to no longer to peel me to sleep.

rather ice my eyes with frozen bananas,wake me up until i mourn with relief,

tuck my ear to the pulse of the breathing ground, slither my feet until they come out from beneath .

and roll and roll to the marble of the mansions. the circus of the past. suffocate the smell of the freeing dance, pause the motion and press play again. and again and again. no stances between.

shudder until we fall, ice our mouths with the frozen breeze. ice until it pauses, until the mansions come alive.