Claustrum

Toes, they itch off into the bulbed flame
breaking in the must of the bed
from the dirt of night sweats.
Blimps of fuzz pass over the pupils
in incandescent daze.
 
Picking, scabbing the inspiration
bloomed off tangled chipping scalp,
the finger drills undo the domestic star aside of the clock dial pacing
above tainted nitrogen blare
through muffled vinyl of the animals' rut.
 
The pelvis burns of jumping jacks.
Throw the nerves away.
 
Once seeping into the Aurora staring blue light
through a screen —
the conversationalist of offers to the inner monologue
of a one-man play.
 
Seek your happiness elsewhere.
The suffocated rock in the cramps and lone pressures across mattress board
inside the ball rolled off the feet of the Passover of Goals
flips in a stumbling kick
and returns to sleep or where its inner
speaks dead to its lemon frame.