Licking the grimy salt shadows
from his fingerprints
You dart out, faux-hippy
tripping on your on-trend benefactor's budget
Tungsten tongues, knives
in the night
Your mind is blank but for
the brilliance of your own sloppy birth
A woman heads South to town,
got souls in her suit pockets
You've got vice with her,
she stands for something
Anything means nothing, nothing
your all
You smoke roadside trash
by Saul Sherry