REFLECTIONS IN A BATH MAT

it was a thick year
and
without retreat

i'd felt the mass of the earth
pushing up 
thru the soles of my shoes like a living thing breathing
and
there
were
moments like drugs but without drugs
when
i couldn't tell if something was wet or just cold
and
the world exploded into pure concept and atoms

just bits to pick and choose

i'd been
burnt by optimism
and was
whole with poison

and now all the killer last lines were lined up
like cigarettes in a fresh pack
ordered
and
waiting to paint my breath