look at us here,
desperate to make a new sound

but old money, new money makes the world go round

it will never change, and it will never rebound

i know that it will stay this way until we're grey in the ground

he will never reach
a blissful satisfaction
picking splintered timbers
from a beige sky

he will never love you
until you burn
and the clouds are red
like a forest fire

make       .                           .    *                      .                    
                      *                                me      ­          *      *
       *     .                 *                  .  *                    .                     ­             *
                *     your                                            *           .              *
   *             .                          *         macrocosm            *                             .          *                             *                                                                ­  

he held my mouth "don't make a sound"
but I'm so loud
on ****** ground

I won't say yes
until you carve out pieces of yourself
and dedicate them
to pouring over my poems
anguished scrutiny of my soul

if you want entrance to my body
enter my mind first, dear

touching my eyelids with cold hands
my mother told me when an eyelash falls out
you can make a wish.
i turned into a trichotillomaniac
wishing after you

I was told off in English today
I maybe misunderstood
the atmosphere of a debate
when I argued that morals are taught
that kindness is false
and human nature
is nothing but *** and ******