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
