i am consumed.
sucked into. pulled
under. plastic over
ducked lips,
eyelashes beneath
leather heals, knelt
beside the trough that is
getting emptier
because I
drink and drink and
drink.
you are squandered.
knit together with
floss that was
pre-clipped for use
before
dentist’s offices
smelled like
insurance’s breath.
we are wasted,
not wasting away.
crumbling like the
kneecaps
of dali’s elephants
eroded
by the dynamic duo of
decades and
disappointment.
no, we are wasted
in the city licking
peanutbutter
from where it fell
on pavement because
that is
the pattern we’ve
created.
dents that clothes
leave on skin
mean that maps are
worth more than mountains,
plastic more than
gold,
means that angles are
better than spirals better than
angels better than
dirt.
we have wasted
circles
into squares stacked
like
cartoon caterpillars,
curious
to see how many bites
you can
take out of the sky
before the moon
notices.
