John is very unwell.
Imagine the entire world drunk.
Every relative every stranger every tree in Alaska every tree in Germany every tree in Brazil drunk.
Every cob-web every bird every earth-worm every heave of every sea drunk.
There’s the innocence of an inside-out day-break.
The grease of his beard growing into his mouth.
He thinks he’s saying what he thinks he’s saying but is only hair mumbling.
He’s utterly compelling.
He’s got an inquisition raptoring up his spine.
New poetry by Paul Leyden.