here’s to hoping my stomach is lined with teeth /
very capable of churning up the twisted flaff downed every day /
tiny bursts of long dead material spun out from the repeated wheel /
rolling down the main view of municipality where atoms are divided /
and sampled at the grocery store as a new source of personal energy /
driving families to the perfect parking lot to watch fireworks /
spout from the belly of the holy ghost, whose only passion is to entertain
time to dive back in, neck extended, into the shallow end /
rasping the slick bottom for cracks /
clawing tiles back seeing the release of old air, babbling up /
close in the mouth to savor and break /
releasing at the surface as visible air amongst the common transparent /
promising never to breathe again this generation
the world has been on fire for centuries /
rain is returned to the clouds /
faces are repeated in the high chairs of the nation /
try to die, but not obviously /
the ground has been simmering under pavement for decades /
the peaks of our heads melting slowly for generations /
that increasing measurement between interest and incline /
is filled with roiled air /
drying out shaved green space /
in the city of tomorrows /
small plastic people cemented to their place
the intestines are the purist manifest of love /
still wringing everything long after the expression /
making a tight, dedicated fist of given waste /
reluctant to let go, impacting all that was offered /
contracting a material world, all we bow to /
into a dark diamond offered again to the struggling senses /
a bed and a ceiling available to all for warmed descent
seeing everything again today /
all the drips, flakes, peels, crusts /
lifting up into our thin atmosphere /
death isn’t worming through the ground /
it is as light as last year’s dusted skin /
blinking in the late afternoon sun /
swimming in the air upwards /
towards the nothing expanding above our heads /
death is weightless, without form /
spreading out amongst emptied space /
and pricks of light holding
every way is clear away /
numbers now and over a carry over /
inspiring waste of time /
we aspire to do diligently /
cracking the day made useless /
a subtraction of its parts /
till the less than zero burns /
a brilliant hole in the drywall /
gleeful it should spread /
into the next morning frame /
add or deduct nearly everything /
artefacts of the future already unbearable /
never consume anything on the menu
no rain for weeks and heads still on fire /
blessed is rusty condensation in the storeroom /
tapping on our tongues unfolded for the trip down /
everyone runs in a straight line from combust to combust /
tearing past malachite and mantis, phlox and plum, layered in shade below /
skimming the outline of words by each other’s glare /
that flare sent up days ago has yet to arch down /
it’s pin of flame lost amongst the flashes we fan about /
draining oxygen from every public place
the citizens are waving along the canyon /
its depth is a massive yawn /
at our moments protruding like minor blemishes /
culmination, an unnecessary by-product of fits and hissing /
not the starry explosions of gargantuan gestures /
sweeping whole ideas off the continent /
but an unsteady stream of cooking oil /
we boil ourselves into
craft is a balance between sharpening the knife /
and tamping the urge to thrust at random /
preferably up a down escalator /
shredding gift bags and beverage containers at the mouth /
lost the thread of the export there /
landed on an unclaimed planet few tourists plan for /
one letter after another until the plot is claimed /
figurative survey stakes raised just enough to trip over /
that’s what keeps the bubble over the head /
shaved rage hammering at the alphabet /
building a fresh unoccupied division daily /
zero units sold and counting, always burning through /
the blinding city on my hill
T capitalized /
not quite a cross /
crucifixion stops at the roof of the mouth /
pronounced never the full way through /
to a recognizable torso /
sloping from the precise arms /
imagine the next rood against the sky /
will it survive beyond the cycle /
waking from dead on a weekend? /
just another body shouting /
amongst the atoms of a nation