Death, I Need My Little Addiction To

There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain Of An Old Kiss.

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

Once I Was A Couple. I Was My Own King And Queen With Cheese And Bread And Rosé On The Rocks Of Rockport.

Need Is Not Quite Belief.

And What Of The Dead? They Lie Without Shoes In The Stone Boats. They Are More Like Stone Than The Sea Would Be If It Stopped. They Refuse To Be Blessed, Throat, Eye And Knucklebone.