ain’t it a sin to rub that much tobacoo into your lungs?
lay that many scars on your knee caps,
press those teeth into so much sugar?

I’ll shroud myself in linen now,
it’s a little damp still, a little stiff with salt
All the birds in my shirtsleeves are scratching up my arms, 
I’ll undo my wristcuffs to let them go first. 

I’m turning my eyes inside out.
all that I can see now are my own gauzy optic nerves,
i can feel the linen drying into my cuts 
I’m going to fill my mouth with honey anyway.