AS IT IS
wolves settle on shoulders
burrow underneath.
steal off, start fires.
sting. abbreviated landscapes
choke the memory.
brain untucked
Bob, the bartender at Fanelli’s
mocks you, your life in heavy pours
of the sinking glass.
what’s been found slides
into your bedsheets.
body falls brazenly into now
over heavy tits.
where we are
is torn from above
thick
with dirty grace in
primal folds of empty streets
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