2: Leech (Hiron Ennes)
on the coldest night of the year, stayed
up to read and play pretend at being an
at-the-end-of-their-rope minor nobility
from the middle of bum-fuck, so deep
in downers that the earth becomes me.
in her infinity and ice-woven loam,
she is the host i’ll be a bad host on.
host my skin i hate host my kids i hate host my most hated gut biota.
‘stuck in a rut’s’ too real when you have dirt up to your ears.
though in return,
(though there’s no ‘return,’ for there’s no leaving)
i’ll skin the earth right back.
coldest night of the year.
the spare key froze to its hiding spot.
had to use a hair dryer to get in.
earth-host holds me until i stop
clawing rabid at the night sky.