According to some 

I have a nice mouth, deep eyes, good legs—a nice voice—nice hair

My veins are full of shit 

and gold intermixed, 

they rot and make me rich 

on the great verge of recognition, 

one tastes the years 

on the surface of the tongue

i scrape at its antiquity

taste the many corpses

my throat/ a trunk for all the things i carry but don’t need

my wrists/ the flames that require gasoline

my eyes/ the only source of water in this wildfire

i cry you nourished/ watch ghosts evaporate