POEMS

 Love, Art, Hell
share a waiting room
like a strange
efficient law firm
where we
shake the shit
out of this freedom
vending machine
nothing falls
except expectations
you fish your hand in
and pull us apart
like a sticky bun
or the city
with your mind
in the sense
that it’s a decision
that everything
you kill
comes back
you hear me
singing
without a head
searching
all of hell for you
who hold it lovingly
in those hands
that only kill occasionally