even
the air trapped in glass
wants
out,
those pedals ache
to decay,
astray and
awry, 
tired, yet a junkie for
trying
self-conspired and
immolated,
wait and waiting
weighted by
the stones grown from 
coronary
arbitrary gasp beyond the
grasp,
another,
bigger glass
so,
as to not be such
a bother-
thought had,
now yonder, if
ever got over
never-
tremble,
behold, the vascular tremors 
scores more than
abundance,
been told, trust
this universe, must
hold
storage enough, for
whatever it is
think
been sought for