A space, a square –
you rearrange my skin with one hand,
complicating the gesture while simplifying my frame.
A space, a square where time has been cancelled,
stripped of its original function.
The interim?

I am covered in earth,
pacing the Lake Isabella shoreline
in a bell-shaped curve, an empty trajectory.
There’s a group of us and the consensus is that
they taste disgusting and when the nausea hits
you know they’re working, but
I think they taste like chocolate and chalk
and I’m not feeling nausea as much as machismo.

It’s the eve of prosperity’s hiatus
Wolves in dark suits
Circle in search
Of an open sore

A hand beckons from a coffin
the brain slams into a bottle,
bloodshot flooding the eye
you stagger away
wearing a sign that reads
don’t give up on me.

My road to excess was paved with broken glass
I learned fast ya gotta kiss ass and that’s not my specialty
see, LA has never felt like home to me
So many ears here full of wax that want meaningless facts
Like, what kind of Rolex is that or how long will Tom and Katie last?