We All Stand Somewhere

I put roofing nails in
my vacuum butter. The floors
taste like rain. Cold hands on the

goose bumps of tangled (torn)
speaker wire. I framed the picture
that you anchored to your nightstand.

I took my tongue from the cookie
jar, the liberty bell left an orange
peel in Nevada.

I saved up enough money, to get
shot in the leg. Three hundred and
forty eight million dollars in debt.

Not a blink of the eye, not a speck
of dust anywhere on that night
stand.

There is so much friction around your
neck.  My hands grinding granite. Soil filling
up around the roots of your vegetables.

The sweetness of that butter, the
tin foil that each and every
one of us is chewing on.

Warm hands gargling Windex.
My tongue tastes bitter on the rim.
That speaker wire is tied- to each one
of the seven

(hundred)

billion

people.

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