Algebra Fucking Poetry Up The Ass

Doubt. Stoic barometer. Futile prison. Leaving. In long drags on stale cigarettes. The scale. Focus arriving in antes. Lost wages. Cold toes. Betting on the end. The stray dog. Knocking over our garbage cans. We had so much. We could throw most of it away.

The scripts. Odious tragedies. Warts on our tongues. Make it impossible to say.

The dogs. Urgent with the instinct. To hunt. Barking. Starved for an opportunity to kill. The transparency of death fucks up her time machine. It's neither there nor here. Keeping careful track. The world could never understand. That the future shapes the past. Their lives are only wagers. Coins in a slot machine bigger than the god's we've guessed.

I just wait for the walls to cave in. Only they never do. I look for myself. I find her, but she never believes me. When I try to tell her. We've been there. It's already over.

Just flesh. Falling off quietly. Until I can identify the bones.