B:
combing back the farmland with a foster family’s bulldozer pen, with a heart shaped spoon, cutting a bald head with cage bird’s teeth, up early skimming an inside-out pool for lining, styling the sadness, a plow dressed down, pharmacological blush, on cheek

clinical cowlick, woe rodeo, not your first farm bought

J:
the fissures grow
until you cannot leap them anymore
when the only way is forward
and left behind
but you fix your hat
make sure your shirt’s on straight before dying

B:
back to the salt mines
the wound of the earth
hopeless make-up songs bump shadow I
finest bulldozer blade to taste
cutting nothing off a sterile field,
infected pepper
mop mornings into lists

J&B:
open your throat and let the oil pour in
it’s in your brain
it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain
it’s in your veins
it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins
open your throat and let the oil pour in


B:
paralyzed bull-pit, pen bicep, shy podium,
cry hot light and sink head in cold and dead sand,
old time, unrealized eventual, flashmob morning,
trench oaths, selling old watches, color-in-the-lines time
combing back the armpit, attempting to climb back up my spine, convention’s bedpost,
the hacksaw and handcuff’s dream

J:
alligator scales weigh your worth
and you dive in after it
did you find it?
it was stolen from you
and you give the flag your first born too

B:
in the king’s bed
clinical dump
prescribed gutters,
down, bloated scapegoat, fed em nothing but can
half in the mass grave
thumb-war children of remote-control parents,
and now parents themselves

B:
combing back the sheets with a mouldboard pen, out of oxen, with a liver-shaped fork, cutting out scars like county road,
we died in the same place every time
almost written down
halfway couch
bereft of life
white smock and pillow mint
pharmacological kiss, in cheek

J:
my oil will get mixed in with yours
when the days have buried us all
i won’t have memory then
but i live with your memory now

B:
full-blown maids to their own enclaves and when-trails
cameo, not your first taste of whiteout
hopeless high-traffic head
in the morning

combing back the armpit
this is all me talking over myself

J&B:
open your throat and let the oil pour in
it’s in your brain
it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain
it’s in your veins
it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins
open your throat and let the oil pour in