I keep sugar cookies in a tin
By loaves of gasping letters.
Animal print scabs clutch
At my heart, scurrilous stamps
Ripped from the corners
And taped impersonally
To sheets of college-ruled paper.
A warehouse claws
At the horizon with its filthy eyes
And I think of you blinking
In distress at concessions
That no longer suit our needs.
I hate you, particularly myself
But what is the difference?
The rivets carrying my smile
Have rusted and my lips
Ground into a fermented pulp
No longer conceal the teeth behind them.
Your mouth objects like boards over
An unthinkable and terrible space.
There is nothing to be said or done,
Nothing to be arranged or emptied,