>sharp shovel sting
on a sun beat hand
outlined cross, a burial mound
the dirt puckers, rises
as if someone were pushing up
from a slammed down palm. i am
rushing home to you curled
weakly or coiled, licking yr teeth
on our couch, but either way
any way, you are loved
insanely: Preciously burnt, your ear warm
against my chest, lub dub, a-lub dub, lub dub.
the grim industrial ink flickers
dying neon, it is panic who bites first
oh, how my shoes could use a shine!
this is how i know i love you.