station

so you faked the sad parts, my arms
cry big boat-
load the shoulder, making turn
after turn, after

you notice my lack of ampersands
and teeth
the venom kind, kinda like
poetry is not.

sand on the cement for slip
control'd behavoir
in the lost pit of midwest territories

cabin fever'd and
name yourself log-hands

cry, and cry until your brain fizz'z
interlock
knuckle bones
mention to me more about this secret
world you got