glass streets

the words are in a crowd and
their faces are falling off.

the words are nondescript and
fuck each other without creating context.

the words no longer breed and
are no longer ideas' bastard seed.

the words are like murdered,
like murdered, um, baby birds.

can I have a new language. this one is herd.

collector

and so,
a hole.

that you dig
to get your prescription filled.

might as well
build a tower longside,

with the dirt
and the stones that you mined.