slobs

The carpet is crumbs the air is greenery
the movies are drunk now tongues
are giggly caterpillars crawling over metal 
stolen straw in a wine bottle 
pounce with a camera and the room flattens 
like a deemed dangerous spark. All the hallucinations 
cry ashes for our soonhistory pictures.

Pre-used glitter flies for us, dustbunnyhead friend. 
Well oh friend. This is the last shuteye 
in the city where we met 
and partly died. We are lies that trust needs
in order to trust, a mess heap always eats well. We confess 
with smoke that we were here. You can tell- oh goddess what a mess!