the salt of the earth

my eyes are silver screens

rotting and decrepit in a 60s graveyard

show up

play the game

don’t ever stop

as long as you give them the ink on the paper

who cares about the cracks in your ribcage

every breath is white-hot

but it’s insurance

are we really as happy as we seem

pieces of plastic with porcelain teeth

bloodstains in the grooves of our fingerprints

my mother’s worried brow

preachers on the corner, screaming about the end

you don’t have to tell us, we know all about it

it’s vulgar but it’s true

after all, everything is just a thing

i chew on the sky

and it tastes like saltwater taffy

What are you looking for?