@
the
kid’s place
we, in the
middle of the fight, went
berserk. We lost it, we lossed the chip
it was  little bitter, unable to shine in skunk-eyes so we slept there
And you know what? i remembered the sights we used to make, back when it was easy to be too slow
before seventh grade shambles, and the cold cup you sold make a buck
against your shallow skin. as I lay, unknowing
of your penny tears, and
unavailable for comment
on my
virginity.
well.

i should give you
bittersweets
not this little closed eye

oh honey (my dear)
it was a reasonably peaceful end, (my dear)
it was a drunken swallow, (my dear)
so why are sweating, (my dear)?

oh child (my, dear)
you must have swallowed Egypt (my, dear)
you look thinner than ever (my, dear)
you've let it go to pieces (my, dear)

you’re cold and contemplative
you’re no one to relate to
your skin is made of iron, (my dear)
your tongue is little sulfur (my dear)

i cannot see you breathing
i’m waiting for the touchdown
you broke it like a banshee (my, dear)
you skidded into midnight (my dear)

your eyes are little babies
your eyes are little babies crying
your eyes were made of nettles
the nettle green is
dying.

some, are reflective
they like to show a mellow face of you, twisted, bulbous
they like your nose, and they are smooth to your hand.
all the more deceptive, they give a little piece of other people.

others can be brass. I
like the brass ones. they smile, they kiss
not spherical. Still, dangerous
if you have cancer, or are tender.

they meet on our battlefields, always paired
to wait out the fight. they turn when they slam.
they can have pins that lock, or little swivels
and sharp teeth.

once, i knew one who punched a hole in a wall for me.
that kind of sweetness gets ignored.

when, under duress
the sun forgets to wake
and just lets the clouds have their say, white
is the same as grey.

i for one, alone, for too
think littlely and slow, with an anger
that bates my silver breath

i am not gilded, to be seen
but small. i must remember
i am not precious. i hate
and my lungs fill with sour water.

but when the sun
under duress, forgets to wake,
the clouds will say other things too.