death like anything, warmed over. i clasp bitten nails around shoulders torn, a lover’s misstep, a wife’s bounty, and jackals that lurk between trees. there is not one promise i will not break into and ransack as my own. eyelashes that peel off before sunrise and we mock the necks of bottles broken inside the necks of lonely men. so quick, easy and disposable: this is what we’ve come to, this is what passes.