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—

NAR CIS US [from the vault]

NAR CIS US

every thing is
a mirror (if
you polish enough)

even your hands
cupp'd and fill'd
with water held

still will show
your only love.
your only face.