The afternoon comes like a torrent

Over brittle lungs, sodden genitals;

My box-shaped heart.

I steal another person's pain

So I no longer need my own.

The loft is filled with old love

I can't give to you any more,

It speaks like a skeleton's joints

corpse letters

voodoo embraces

phantom longings

dead; dead

Is all dead.

Duty calls me like a cowbell in fog.

From here, standing at the end of us,

Where you can no longer see me

I pull the trigger; the ballistic

of diseased roses will find you,

Years ago on that lawn of fluid.

I walk for a while

Through the beautiful mess I have made

Laughing into the rich soil.

Forgotten you.