vinegar on your hands
you can't drown the filth
like the cracks in the floor

but nothing is as personal
as paper
and your skin on mine

maybe sometime they'll learn to see
the horizon we are
and the sunrise i've been painting

silver over gold
clay over granite
everything will perish, too

or maybe i'm wrong
the hunger eats my soft insides
i grow plants in the afternoons

maybe someday things will fall into place
just like all the shiny pennies
at the bottom of the fountain

but there will always be thieves
they come in all packages
and your eyes must be wide

to trust is to die
why give the glass to shaky hands
that hold no value in your trinkets

"day three
still no compliance
end note"

"day four
suspect found dead
no foul play suspected."