Pail Of Air

Creeping charlies don’t need too much light
sorry, wrong number, apology accepted.
i see no cloud ring wind wave,
simply something wicked whipping once around the moon…
what do you want? the bed is made,
give me the cigarette money or a pail full of air…
i spit up string in granny knots,
my foot’s asleep or else i’d walk
am i having sex or huffing gas?
my mind’s asleep or else i wouldn’t ask.