Tears form Swarms in the Cavity of my Gut like little insects,
Playing house where you used to be.
And Underneath the viaduct
Where my dreams camp out with book bags
Jammed full of inexorable fates
Strapped to their crippled backs,
You prey and gather a stockpile of encyclopedias
About loss and what comes after
Aware of your hands, I've always been
How they complement your intentions
Picking pits into delusions like nervous tics
Knowing I'll always beg for more