Kill an Inch
I hollowed out my eyes for this trophy,
champion of getting sucked years.
I would clothespin a tombstone if they let me.
I would sell the mother right off my back
if they hadn’t already hanged me for it.
I was raised on hamburgers
like you or anyone below a sky.
My mega disaster blood pumping
diatribe, wardens, squalor of merchant,
prancing voyeuristic whodunits.
Their mere victory of names blushed live.
I killed an inch off your hemming
to doubly ensure everyone’s good
forehead. Walked the mob in a tired
circle of sniffed ass. Onward through
horizons formed by the unidentified
bombs of whoever I said we’re chasing.
I insinuated pressures relinquished
or calculated foreign spray. Surely
another jaw had been there.
But whose eyebrows tied up
on the runway getting gross with miles
boarded the first daughter?