"About 3 Handfuls"

Asleep 7 days and 9 oz. Asleep awake and alive, pressing down and holding Back big secrets this well oiled Melancholy is forever in the making. Asleep and so tired, drifting in and out Of breath, breathing in and out careful consideration-- "This might be my last"-- And all I can think is "One more time." Then full of time and smiles and all it comes by quickly went and gone Before eyes are even open. The next comes by quickly went and gone Before eyes are halfway closed. We calibrate our hearts to beat to this Rhythm. We grab up and take it. We hold it close. We scoop it up, about three handfuls. Dirt dangling there between us, slightly paranoid about Being impotent, limp, and Things of yesteryear like so many a good penis Left to rot between our legs. How is it they hid this... How is it they covered up... How is it so many tired genitalia passed themselves off As more than sex organs? More than yesteryear? More than... I count the stars dropping down and ground swallowed As though good redclay and asphalt overtop was Kronosaturn and By JOVE I might got it read and dead (hale and hearty task after task and done) and must I be Well-rested all this time? Because, I am sure right now I feel so Like consciousness is a strange bedfellow And well, our company we keep, that knows us... Gets us known. Asleep 8 days and 2 swallows, My hands are at my sides. Greatbig about three handfuls I hold Clenched and fisted, Deep... Inside... And wake away my life.