Tall Squires

Stale coffee hushing itself in the morning's vomit. Skin chalkboards littered with their fingerprints. Time our lawyer against a jury of drug. Little pinholes in the meat of us devouring the spices. Little traps in the hunt severing their feet.

The jauindice of love clarifying rapidly as the walls tumble in. Weak maneuvers of weaker vctims turning this raw meat into sustenance.

Without flavor. Without wish. We bite down. So sure this hunger will release us. Without taste. Without skin we look to the oven for redemption. And though its breath is hot I am cold as ever.

Fouled by the plates I've decorated with names not mine to say anymore.

I don't see how they can treat words like gods when we mere mortals so easily manipulate them. If anything we are the gods that make them covet. If we are anything other than poets. We are people. Addicts. Carving the globe in tiny chunks.

The franchise of sober recruiting all kinds of men.

Drunk enough to know forgotten is an adjective.

That the world we sampled is bored of us.
Of recipes for happiness. Stale dragons. Erased. In coughs of fire. Lips of asbestos poroous with death.