THE TRANSPORT BOUND

In a ghost             fire limbs, a grave
projection: you here, who wouldn’t 
 
                                          pinion trunk if I implored you.
                                          I spent the day watching
 
 
 
 
                                         Who               me stiffs me
                                         in still minutes. Slower I don’t think of you.
 
The             I stage, the release I resist.
For its insomnia and fallow turns.
 
 
 
 
                                        We lie low,          yet when we speak.
                                        I keep such a greyed cord.
 
Ask for your         to fasten me
but twice a year. This ring around myself
 
 
 
 
            play another way.
I’m out here, bound
 
                                         to be a matter        or credit.
                                         If you don’t miss me tonight, pull