Eight by Six

one orange morning, rusted over
with possibility, pollen from oil seed and an air of
hope left under the bedsheets, the silent bed partner never missed or
looked for
it's too easy to lose again
and round here it's the most fairweather of fairweather friends
but one with which i'm chained
soon i'll be swapping this eight by six for another just like it.

get off that stuff, she said,
and i'll stone you instead

Looking rough, bed-headed and not eager for today
finding fault in everything and everyone
'though this was not my way, once.