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Description
broken bottle of
candor, here in the
agony of evening we
slander our past.

it's a pattern of
abuses, a wildfire
of nooses slipped out of
at the last moment,
of rags screaming into the night
in a fiery rage.

there are no cages
that can curse us,
no way to worsen our
stance. bones shattered
grow back to be
fortresses and you
should believe that my
middle finger is an
obelisk to god.

throw a dollar on the counter,
throw up just a bit
but swallow it. history
returns with gross
perspective; i might
learn if not for
blacking out.

if it weren't for
you i'd never make
it home. i have passed
the gutter that you
found me in more times
than i can mutter incoherently.

when i fall and
break my nose, we laugh
and rake the blood
across the cobblestones.
a flock of crows
to some but just
a fucking coronation
to the two of us.

i will keep your
crown around my neck;
you drop mine into your
jacket pocket. i will
write this into poetry
and you will claim to
read it.

we're too drunk
to see this hurting us
again.