Overwhelmed

I will unfold my heresies
In sheets, in droves of threads
That pool at my knees.
This litany of faults
And drives unquenched
Crunch in around my eyes,
Crush the rings of my temples
Into a massy pulp.
I shake at night, asleep,
Held in place beneath the weight
Of feathers,
Suspended somewhere on a string
Between my thirsty mattress
And the skin of the moon.
Oily. Faltering.
There is a tenderness that lights
Along my nerves
And flickers among the lists,
Casting shadows over every ounce
Of time that wallows, wheyish,
To curdle in my mouth.