Lust: Hands

Moving bodies still move
in the dark.
It's raining but we choose
not to notice,

turn that hollow percussion
into something else
entirely:

A struck match,
a wing beat.
Applause.


Lust: This

Drop it in the hole.
Your hands won't
get dirty.


Lust: Death

A smell is the absence
of sound. Pick what you

didn't say up off
the ground.

Your mouth is always
full. Open it

and another mouth
floats out. Eats

itself. Never comes
back for more.


Lust: Nostalgia

Dogs will fight over
the last bone.

This says a lot
about bones and less

about hunger.
A dog will eat after

it's full. Whatever's
left on the ground.


Lust: Ends

Nothing to believe
in the skyline.

The sun isn't itself
today. Looks at us

through the bars.
A color war

is breaking out
but no one is fighting.

The buildings shoot
birds out of windows,

silver reflections
of what used to

be sky.