You don’t know about the kid-
the kid is not around for this
beyond the lips which doused the flame
and swallowed up the pit.
Call the kid piranha if you wanna,
kick back with the red juice and your trauma.
Tick the list of fucked up shit and
draw the face with commas like
the boundless pause and quiet
when you ask to hold a diamond
but you don’t intend to buy it.
The bleak light of the north star
in the stillness of the dawn,
the acrid scent of night in flight
behind the rising sun.
The sinking of a hungry gut
full up with lying tongues,
the hitch of which was bitten from
the mouth of a reflection-
Casted an inflection far too bitter to articulate-
Cast a spell we know too well called
get the fuck away from me.
The kid is just a guppy with
a hook up in the gills,
who doesn’t want a human hand
to even graze the scales.
Who will not breech the surface just to
see the boats take sail
beneath the cutting howling of the purple twilight gale.