we were born with death written on our arms.
you
wear it like a tattoo;
i wear it like a barcode that
god
stuck on the ******.
cashier yells
                         “NEXT PLEASE”
& you try to get laser treatment.

smoking in graveyards the clouds sang.
we
fell in slow pieces.
nobody will recognise the tune.
god
has left us a sign,
sign reads:
                  GONE FISHIN’
i hold you crying in his hallway.






you started wearing death on your sleeve.
i
need a new skin;
you need to get a better shirt.
god
is not a dressmaker
but instead
                       a lover -
unbuttoning the words on my headstone.