Countdown

Your face; raw and homeless,

a burger with a fried yellow yolk, slapped 

like thick rolls I want to slobber

Baby black hairs are rivers twisting

through your navel

Your hands are infant bottles;

teach me to drink!

Suckle on ink cartridges

Tell yourself to behave,

breathe 

On that day your eyes were dim

caves holding my face underwater

I learned

that our van days were stupid, we should’ve coughed 

up our guts during those rusted riffs

It took two years for me to learn how to live

on a plate and become your meals

Your mouth braided words

like flaked charcoal on my blank canvas 

skin and I ruined every inch 

of your home with pleasure 

until the day you wore my 

red blister ribbon

in a knot around your fat limb

Courage became distorted inside your ribcage 

birdcage

and I felt tall

City lights ate you up,

crunched on your sewn skin like leather

How do I compare?

Welcome to the New Year,

leave your shoes at the door.