there lies a pistol

swaddled in velvet & nestled between cement blocks. 

the clip is slick with the cold sweat of anticipation.

       there lies a litter of kittens — two stillborn,

two clawing//crying at an empty November sky.

their eyes sealed & bodies starving.

       there lies two gold-headed children 

in eggshell linens stained earthen and sanguine. 

with legs scraped raw, tangled in figure-eights.

       there lies two pale bodies coated in splotches,

horsefly sores//coagulated blood//mud & pine sap

fingerpaints//sweat that never stops pouring//semen while

“I smell sex & candy here…”

loops on the radio up the gravel road, 

seeps downhill–unto our empty ears as

        their lies slip & slide

through the wrinkles of our brains 

and zip right back out the flies of our Levi’s.

      their lies 

result in the kind of unknowing 

that makes our bodies dangerous