our fast casual happiness

I went to dinner on Tuesday Even though I wasn’t hungry And hadn’t been for months Or years To peel the scab from a ketamine hole That craved the polluted air meant for the ceiling of that restaurant And routinely bled into the carpeted underbelly of our town Lubricating our feet
That craved whatever was below the asphalt Or just momentary relief from depletion Or the blood from that unhealing wound reminded us of home Sometimes I’d pulverize my hands Until there was no bone And no prospect of creation And hoped they cooked quickly on the flat top grill With malt liquor fajitas And humanely butchered prescription pills
That marbled our flesh
In preparation for our own unceremonious slaugh...View all