the burning sensation
in my throat is pastel
and for rent



my last for the last time
was "this is my last
for the last time"



one day we'll grow up
to be a cautionary tale



the end purrs in the direction
of our armies



mushrooms grow out
from them already



their fates tied up
in a diet of worms



we disinfect ourselves from one another
in our criminal lineup of human evolution



calling tuesday night
from wednesday's trash



watching a bruin on his side
on the ice



surrounded



who carried this fire
who brought this ruckus