Countdown
Your face; raw and homeless,
a burger with a fried yellow yolk, slapped
like thick rolls I want to slobber
Baby black hairs are rivers twisting
through your navel
Your hands are infant bottles;
teach me to drink!
Suckle on ink cartridges
Tell yourself to behave,
breathe
On that day your eyes were dim
caves holding my face underwater
I learned
that our van days were stupid, we should’ve coughed
up our guts during those rusted riffs
It took two years for me to learn how to live
on a plate and become your meals
Your mouth braided words
like flaked charcoal on my blank canvas
skin and I ruined every inch
of your home with pleasure
until the day you wore my
red blister ribbon
in a knot around your fat limb
Courage became distorted inside your ribcage
birdcage
and I felt tall
City lights ate you up,
crunched on your sewn skin like leather
How do I compare?
Welcome to the New Year,
leave your shoes at the door.