spake directly to the skull

6/13/18 10:43PM

the tar is endless

when the dinner is gone

none of the burbs

with their twisted words

can undo what’s been done

there are fossils under here

and floating beneath the cracks

are the skins of birds

and the ghost of david byrne

just eating away at tongues

I see this lake a crumpled mess

with fluorescent whisps 

and a dead end of curbs

but it’s better out here

where the wind is queer

and always eats its tums

that’s not where I lie

with spines or lungs

and long dead thumbs

keep recording my verve

why’s the camera so glum?

a filtered life

without her strife

will end up on stacks of none