go

[dead man]

butterfly knife into your jugular, choke
out a guttural note. black moth super rust in the spokes
i wanted to know who you became after we ended off. you never called
you're no muse. you're an episode. empress of the epilogue
tentacles you cross like pentecostal depiction
talk to me the way you talk to the children. with composition
stop at jewel-osco when i walk to division
buy you twenty truffles and a pasta with chicken
brickyard manor, project building flatline college tradition
web-registered for pottery for something to piss in
jackets in the cubby. wearing sox in the kitchen
milk-and-cookie midnight hour where monsters revisit
its a mantra we live in. idiot. we're idioms alive
raging towards machinery in systems of a rise
symptomatic times, cold-sore lip sync every tune
there's someone here. i only wish it was you.