You can test a woman for honesty, you can go and test her for goodness; but it’s a wicked game and a cryin’ shame, there’s no way to give her a love test… -Los Growlers
“Put some nails in that.” We’re ready…
My fingers, they try to make words
with numbers and my brain freezes
Language, no one understands. Wet.
Listen to taps on the rooftops–then
the wind picks up. We are remains
of something long torn-apart.
Dissection left to rest, to find
Mortar from the energy exchanging
between us, friction-driven, only glimmer
left that doesn’t need to be tested
for acidity: too much weight on my
ribs–you keep pulling at the sutures.