Friday, March 30, 2018

a shirt we could not afford

we didn't read our fortunes
     because the tiles were supernaturally
clean
we pressed the cookie against our teeth
     waiting for a phone to
dry
we soaked the paper with our pen
     forwarding the bones to the mortgage
lender
we rested the morsels against our tongues
     hoping they would dry before the first
bite
we would not hear about the future
     in which we would come to
live
we wrapped the blood from the feast
     in the shirts we could not
afford
we did not believe in words
     we questioned what they would mean to
us

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