24 Dec


There’s a certain amount of love
left in the juice jar
nobody in, nobody out
but left up to the feet
on the ceiling in doubt

to be here in colds
as eternally an open window
to the blind guest
in streaking
this halo of flies
riddled to the spine stitches
steam blows us off of
carrying us to warm
washcloth storms
to harm the charm of us
a bony harp
cutlass wind
patina of evil
coasts above
sea-thorn coasts
everything you knew
the choice you put away
a diorama of poverty
clipped pinkies
ringed your coat
and walked away
on chalk-outline together.

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