WORTAUFSCHÜTTUNG
shovel mouthed, you dig
a ghost of a grave, a
maskless leer—here we
dance on pages torn
from spinebroken books,
somethere when you wake,
take a swig of chemical green
mouthwash, minting your
tongue anew, a new hole,
bottomless in your yawp,
your coughed confession,
your ill-wished wants,
somehere we make a sigil
of roads, an open way to
ward you off, with your
wallcrusted soul funneling
wirebarb sharp syllables
past the careless guardposts
of your yellowing incisors.
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