Mint

raw was the morning
in the cool anxious tile
it clung to the shadowed
grave of hour like
cold mildew

the font of fish on crackle plastic
and steel hoops
the tray of metal and lip
of the tub

prepare flesh
wash madness
soak weary anguish
down the black throat
of whirlpool send

the drips echoeing
from haunted turns
like lost waking dreams
shaken by the breaking
alarm

rattling like a shamans
claw

drip drip

each soft and hidden
damp acceptance

the mirror with its calm
devoid
the sky not  there
its sliver thin razor
comfort rusting
brightly

there is dark worry
in grout
like ink stained
border pages

like love in worry hearts
in basin fountian
romance

the sky is turning
burgundy

and stars are cloistered
like glistened want

If only I could love