exhausted. maybe hitting the end of these poems. sad.

I fall in to sleep like I’m hungry for it,
Hungry at least to exit my body
Which is too plain, Slavic, heavy,
Held too much to the earth,
And I like my body am comical
And heavy, made of a set of bones
Cast out as if prophetically
Over the raw earth of my lumped soul.
I sit under the stripped magnolias.
Spring is going to do this to all of us someday.