Comfort
			
			
			his tongue
			
grew back
			
                to a doppelgänger
			
			
			morphs to a foot that kicks him
			
			
			he hitches himself up
			
			
			his bloody nose will crust and flake
			
			
			his glasses were crocked before
			
			
			Ψ can recover his comforts
			
			
			sleeping in sheets filled with spring
			air
			
and the way ink dries after he has
			written a sentence
			
			
			
			Michael Fisher