apple-cider throats
and numbed veins push thumb-
tack numbers between
folds of brain tissue.
the stars are closed tonight,
try again at six
a.m, we're burnt,
we are falling down.
touch with knotted bones,
dreams aren't black and white
sing with clotted blood;
feel with burning scars.
we are just freight trains
dancing on red rails,
as we pass our smoke
through our rotted teeth.
