unsure

Feral dreams blur moon at last;
zero, clinging to her dark
will say nothing now about these
hours, grinding slowly and
ungiven in the slide of gravity.

Night rattles dry-leaf bones and
foxes pick at unread love
songs tumbled in among cold
cuts, half-smoked cigarettes
and over cooked spaghetti.

“oh really and what now
………………… she-writhes