always two sharp edges on everything
working like some stunted greasy mirror works
poetry picks shit apart and infests it:
kids burning maggot wood in a squat.
open your eye at the walls in there
try to be surprised that they aren't your ideas
two sharp edges on every damn thing, it seems
sure is expensive to be conscientious.
the kids are saying how it costs
money to be conscious, seems the asleep
would agree, outside. the worms in the wood
pop and steam.