in the morning
before I die sweaty
ego            less a face
ass up             grabbing sheets
ghost I’ve become
pushing my finger
holes for eyes             considering
oblivion
of always same             hollow
hunting             only wanted
the dark             augmentation of
reality             dissipation
& ablation             internet sin            where skin of
mine means nothing
but skin             a removal
of surface             for small talk
fined tuned             simulacrum
w/ a dab pen vapor & prescription
klonopin I swallow             to expose
just the waif             you like             to say precipitation
beats ground             w/o erosion is to
ignore             accumulation
& I let lust mean
nothing             but what I could give
away             it’s evolution             of ontology
what             entities             exist of me            to you
other than wetness/a cunt
& counting moments
I’m no longer             at all
breasts weathered
between             pretending
a phantom             predicting
annual loss is not
exceeding             all the nothing
I’ll never
gain.

C.M. Keehl

C.M. Keehl

C. M. Keehl is a poet from the Detroit area. Read recent or forthcoming work in Yes, Poetry, Souvenir Lit, and Heavy Feather Review.
C.M. Keehl

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