re: frigeration

I can’t think of anything else

but this slow buzzing

the faint waves –

the stench, still squatting here as at last

(at last)

the noise fades.

Every break

is godsent

in the insomnight…

…and even then, the fear of fears –

ten minutes or less and sleep must be slept

before/or else/because

WHOOOSH!

[comes the humfmmfmm of the fucking fridge]

working its work, holding levels, avoiding peaks and

drops

keeping cool constant, until again

(again) it stops.

Not a relief –

but the tension of loss,

like I’m quilted in its absence,

that buzz,

so much buzz, the plug-in to life,

pulsating the veins

in the tile

and the grout

WHOOOSH!

[—]

 

Who could ever drop off

when they bed in a house

where power surges

in/in/in

and finds no way back out?

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