running down the side of your lips.
yellowed/fraying at the tips.
clawing at the rim--one more sip.
can you hear thunder shoving ribs?
Hushing e c h o e s
of a gasp in between
the curves of fingers
the cracks that they breathe.
with scraping teeth
rotten as the
metal rings that cut with keys.
harmonies wh o o s h i n g with grief.
Isolated armies dead in a heap.
lungs gushing fire along.
tongues of beasts always are hung.