sparks, alight

lighting
cigarettes off the stove
and thinking about
how charming we are

watching old television
and nevermind the seat cushions.
And all of this tattooed on your spine.

it's not enough to feel this
undcerneath my skin
it beats out like a rhythm
unseen before us we lie

down in its ashes
and cry for the doves
above and I say nothing
to do about all of those mongrels

who should lie before us
as it may be I don't
know what to see

forward as a lightbulb
burns out in the candlit past
I am screaming louder than
air is blowing through
the trees and wires may lean
to seem like it pulls this world
together and who knows where to go
on the sidewalk and move move
will you out the poison or
do I have to do this all over again?
I want it to look like it hurts.
I am carved clean.