pack of filth



My love for you has been anachronistic.

You keep leaving me behind. 

I am cigarette burns in snow drifts and I am discontent, 

the musty smell of books, cold tea. 

You are fuzz on the radio waves. 


What cozy gray snow blanket of clouds will come down next to eat us up?

What vicious rain?

We were washed out to sea and the world got quiet and stopped spinning and started to burn. 

Blue, beautiful flames fat with heat and the lard of the human crust of the Earth. 

There weren’t as many things to break between our jaws; there was more blood to lap up. 

We are hungry dogs.