The process runs in its own space, it’s
dual-core, but poly-threaded–Lorain
wounded by petulant skies, quicker
pedestrians–this pill nails me to

running water, and leaves me to hang
dry against mouthing wood oily, with
cracked hands–she’s making lists while
I split and bleed mahogany–wonder

about that rush of tracing faces
walking night clean–showing me
a page black’d out–so you want
about touching files too, eh–

Hellish with strings, with enterprise architecture