tissue
anybody on the street
has murder in his eyes
in your city. you
live with those dogs
from hell, watching
those justaboutdone
fall past your window on
their way to meet your
vomit below, beethoven
hovering on the air
like dust kicked up
when you slink
into the old hallway where
the razor strop stands
at attention, waiting
to add scar to
scar. it knows
what it is better
than you do despite
what you think, for
you are always moving
your head, never looking
in the bar mirror.
we could pick any path we please.
we could walk it all the way to the cul-de-sac.
we could find an open door there.
i just need you to be the fool,
to kick your way out of the closed womb,
to reveal the fresh skin by peeling.
page revision: 1, last edited: 11 Feb 2026 05:05