at the sight, something in you
crawled up
 

a cop’s spine & frisked every
damn where
 

benches clap on first & fourth
down here
 

your whole shitty block of trash
built beige
 

alleyway cardboard cuts out
bodies
 

heavy with living death, lungs
packing
 

past a sack of centuries
pant-sag
 

your own blood hard up drops
black thud
 

traces yardbird song & thrum
been sad
 

as miles of revitalized
gravestone
 

your stuck flash-wide sprawl, liver
gored on

your rouged-cotton infant coos
cribside
 

the watershed: alarms all
curtsied
 

with bass in the waists of your
daughters
 

no rhythm nor blues but
dumpsters
 

cute cubicles like kennels
boxed up
 

your glare-proof pickets protest
big lip
 

service to a tranquil re-
public
 

bleating guilt, panhandle &
pout-suck
 

off your tempered glass, your cured
blonde grass
 

sound’s nostalgia you curate
boneless
 

sinking teeth deep in safe codes
gating
 

your high-stakes crown, your goodness
glue-clung.