FÜR 6 HÄNDE

FÜR 6 HÄNDE

cold faced, you
swallow a smile,
you break off
an icicle, jagged
eyed, murderous in
your kindness, your
moth eaten faith.

some stranger faced
beast walks past,
and you brace,
wound up with
chill and friendly
malice, ghastly, fractured
but claiming the

whole of all,
a land you
have seen once,
before the snow
cloaked it, a
place to sow
teeth, should the
ground ever thaw.

MONTHS OR DAYS OR HOURS

lost year we // sharpened our
mole claws // blundered, blind,
out under // that sometimes sun

sometimes cloud // mostly empty,
always unrepentant // our mouths gone,
whispered off // somewhere else, some

where better // to turn our backs
out, sit & unsit // dreaming of empty
halls as lonely as // Heorot, unmonstered

unfeasted, unsung // unpeopled & battered,
all our solipsistic // voices, unmoored from
any true mouth // screaming, coughing

HERE IS OUR LONG FOREVER //
IT UNMAKES US SO VERY WELL

elbows knocking // shall we dance
away to that always // dimming dusk
what use are tongues // if we cannot taste

what use our tongues // if we shout
as loud without // our teeth still true,
our bite as feral // our hunger grown

sup with us // this break fast on
our own lungs // our own tongues,
sink your jaws // wholly separate

from any face // ‘nto your neighbors
heart, we are // so discrete, our
meal we made // the reservation

we have finally kept.

knowing my dreams are dreams makes them no less stressful

the air between us now, all needles and sulfurous furnaces
some casual cruelty come, bleach white and fuming
shall I cup my hands again, a chalice to catch your sick
shall I cast it ‘pon the kitchen floor, read you our future
all chunks and spatters // your mouth too many teeth
shall I teach you to swallow some, shall we gather, go
unforgiven again, lain down in muddy fields, waiting
to be plowed under, do you know that I am tired, that
another day waits beyond yet another damned dawn.

A GAME IF YOU CAN SET THE RULES

 —we eat souls, don’t we?
the mirror’s chipped, and it is
easy. our throats shouted raw,
fuck us if a whisper would’ve
done. eat quarters from the ground
—the gutter, to get our reward for
eating our fill. aspiring to the
casual cruelty of some midwestern
christ, framed and dusty, hanging
in judgement askew—