k i d s.g o n e.b a d

11.16.2007

i feel like a chore.
i imagine
every couple of days he sits, bored at a bus stop
and thinks,
i guess now would be a good time to call.

at 4:17 PM

slip down our throats

you'll find these grimaces.

teeth grinding around

in stomachs

with needles

and sugar and quarters.

dancing against wires

bundled together as veins.

that scowl of fruit-silk

and light bulbs

with bugs inside.

all these things

you couldn't

swallow.