Gnats

swallowing gnats with bile rising

a tomb of sleep

I hear the day

I fear its heat

and swing away

humming gnats o things of beauty

a tomb of life

I know the smell

I love the night

and blissful hell

rhythm rhythm count on fingers

clever here now

stupid there

they ask me how

I could not care

fingers blunted vodka singing

a week of me

of me and I

I hope this week

is not to die