Pin ***** beneath your valley of ribs.
Your mousy heart beats
Endlessly and namelessly as static. What
Used to be swollen with purpose, constipated
With pride, greasy and blistered as a cocktail sausage,
Is now an old wound; it needs a poultice,
A placeholder of semantics
For the palms praying to the peerless sky,
A paperweight for that
Headless neck. You used to be pedantic.
Now ease is the strangest feeling;  born of the dailiness of splitting hairs
Between us, over and
Over.

Numb under mine, your crossed arms
Frame my grave in a way that seems sacramental,
To be left barren too of hope for you. Not fair to
Create it out of nothing, like some ****** pregnancy.
If God won’t come to hold me down, I’ll go to him and start
Over

While you stay curled up by the window like a vegetable.
Time makes cautionary tales of lucent billboards that brand the street
Infected by moths numerous as ****.
Subdued and flickering out, they don’t concern me anymore; now I
Contemplate cleft-lipped fractures in the concrete
Cracking seedy smiles at me. I grow quietly dim as understanding takes
Over.