It came in the form of something 

soft. Biteable. The underside of 

a mouse. The arrogance of the easily 

harmed. And when the four stone walls 

came apart under my hand it took weeks for 

the grit to settle under my tongue. To work out 

between my teeth. 

And I see it still in sleep. Molars cracked like 

a paving stone. 

Hair in a wet mat. Upturned eyes in the mud 

and body-slurry. 

I was made for a casual death. 

Half current, half wave. 

God of the big and God of the small. 

Heavy lies the head.