we fill a pig we fill the job we fill in the blank we fill a **** tank our plot of dirt and wreathed granite we fill our gut we fill the dish we fill a wall with frame and single-mindedness we fill our cup we fill a slot we fill up the dog with greasy scraps that no one wanted since they’re full and we seal friends with cake from cheap card board boxes stuffed with sugar and nonsense we fill our kids with what we want we fill a prison we fill our brain and cabbage chest that eventually rots and smells like old Roses De Chloé and Loreal pigment we fill our ******* crows feet with collagen instead of admiring them like the meritorious stripes that they are they rest in ashen dust gin vapor and vehicle identity finally blows up and floats away like a bad check a shadow on the landing up high, a sun drenched butte where lupine and sage grows out of touch from hectors reaching what counts, quiet breezes can be heard shrilling through the rock and now bare dignity never shows up at times like this, vultures hover over the empty can of a carcass and bones that once stood just and ran full and fought clashes, nothing is full now and what matters most is now empty.