With the seeds of mice in mind
And feeling the hot gray sun
On my back, my neck like a strumpet,
.
I tune in, to
What is left of my life,
The dust between the cars
Forming an apex of my harm
That everybody must know,
So many to the north
With social security numbers
To knowingly watch me with sympathy
Knowing that I have tried and failed
.
Under these enclosed,
Seemingly accidental apparatuses
Of love’s lack, of tacky
Brandishings finding their way
And shining like the store fronts,
People
To devour the sands of time.