patterned glass and fortuned favorites,
decrepit underbelly lies low with plastic
pulling chunks of our mistakes from
dissected birds, disillusioned that we
are any different, a hard beak could easily
process your narcissistic plugs,
when summer is done and gone you are on
the sick saddle headed west with the rest of us.
a tongue on the street,
the dirt in your mouth
gossip beat, collapse repeat,
partitions of cold spoken words
sealed into lungs eating alive,
eating poison spit oxygen,
death pulling upon your veins
while killer bees lick their own lives
off your honey dipped toes.
peeling their sticky wings from your unkempt nails,
inching over your knees
you feel them consume your heartbeat,
a collapse release.
only your dirty tongue left to lick up the street.