In the summer I will eat nothing but fruit/ Let the soft flesh slide down my throat/ And into my belly where it will rot/ Until I am fat and round with seeds

Graffiti/ on playgrounds, well-fed alpacas in the palace garden,/ mutated children, sleeping in discarded gift/ boxes outside the nightclub./ We begin to seep/ through cracks…

Grandpa dug the game warden’s false teeth right out of his face/ buried them in his dresser near the painting of Jesus on the wall./ As latchkey kids, the first thing we learned how to do was unlock/ every gun case in our mother’s closet…

The F U scrawled on my car’s hood/ has gotten deeper/ my teeth can hold anything/ but a smile…

These hollers have teeth/ five times too many/ blind eyes from bad shine/ the mine has collapsed/ shells still in Matewan/ Blair Mountain has ghosts…