less than eloquent

snake tongue elegant

forked like a river

where both sides

lead to flames

or brimstone.

the walls of my home

are burning and i’m

caught without a

fire extinguisher or

even a cup of tea.

i gave it up for free

to the homeless man

on the corner,

the man in the rags,

pacing the intersection

of crow’s feet and bags

or tracks you left on my

arms, biohazard, airborne

harm. and we’re lost.

fuck it, we’re lost.

lost cause, spent on lawless

bliss or the rebel’s fist,

barely holding onto something

we can’t feel anymore.

left on a distant shore, the

sea of unseen or high

found in dreams. lost

on tops of hills that

we know, and streets we call

home. left the glue holding

it all up alone. let it rot.

melt away, forming

grey pictures of something

we’re not. never were.