August Series

I.
Cut shots and we're
crouching on sand
ringing our hair
into the holes we dug

II.
His unwashed smile never creeps
up to his eyes
and we're all deprived
of his oystered whites

III.
Cry my shout to her bones
and rattle my vibrations in her kneecaps
we could both stand to lose

IV.
Battle for the lost and the last
and blow it the fuck up
lighting is easier when you have moths to attract

V.
You broke the rules of engagement
and pointed your nose straight up
we shed our wings for the smell
of cloud

VI.
You've grabbed my elbows
and I've taken your ankles
and we will be a barrow
on the hill

VII.
Feel your toes
crush the carpet as you
pad around the fallen
it's 4 a.m.
and you've got time
to kill

VIII.
There's the station
and it's sitting like the Thinker
our feet are stuck in sinkholes
as our seats go from
green to brown

IX.
Box cutters and cash registers
we go to the depot
and we find a party

X.
Go, go, go explode
you're standing in the way
and we leave in 15
your feet mean nothing
and they're
stopping
everything