PLV

In coal hue,
where no bugger ever rises
except a fool,
follow me out, where
brambles'll cut coverless,
scarred knees,
train underpass,
concrete trees.
I'll hunt the miles,
harsh, tearing inclines and
exhaust the inches of your
sour soul,
when sweat's become
a cult-chapel to kneel in,
head wanting more,
body screaming
fuck me,
yesterday's transgressions
will turn gelatinous fat,
bury skin and be
devoured by sleep.
I wonder if,
between our violent everything,
something fell short,
secretly resting
on a peak of dirt
made by a man with no more
plan than ours,
endorphins dissolving
and you found me
a chaotic beast just fizzing,
fatalistic and
worrisome, un-
moving days
leaking grief and tire,
without fail I've been
hoping to outrun
the possibility of monotony
and then anything else
I find too hard.