I can put an “it” into this and a “was.”
I could put you through “this.”
Or is “this” just a rehash of the same old plot and
any dawn’s dumb tint, any discount trick to make a sale.
Wait and see with me anyway what might find us
sewn behind into our one spam tin of time.
We can still leave here with a bag of what looms.
If two locked male buck can’t detach from fight
they will starve, become something else after their bodies balloon.
We flesh things through, we can work things out.
But you can’t sound, you can’t see the stop watch
alarm hand meshing our live flesh, sloppy seconds
Zipping the hole back before us like singers sewing fast.
Dress up but don’t wait for me. I’m already over there
Waiting for you to shut up, I mean, keep talking
as the prices continue to fall.