You can absolutely stay in our spare room

for as long as you need. Hearing yourself

say that carries the melody of being half

wasted. Doing something in good faith

assures that you will get nothing back but

cockleburs, damp towels and a trash full

of grounds. You’ve lost face trying to make

a diamond before. Just off the coast of

saying uncle, near the jawline of foolish

endeavors, you spy more coal and more

pressure. Here in the spill hour, these are

the blood shoes you wanted. You wear them

around the vultures until you’re so thin

they won’t touch you.