He way objects pass like hours

With a face and sneering...

He bled on his pillow

And now rested in it

The sheets warm in morning...

Pickled in the mattress...

Suspended in them and

Thinking like a fetus...

To roll over and see

Ceiling fan unspinning

Shadowless in spring light

Flabby muscles ringing

Rust as spirit color

Rust as world entire

Rusty metal faucet

Drips rusty colored water

Rust as spirit color

Rusted-up and tired

Must be something I ate --

Could be wrongly wired