Murder will kiss my brow.
One cemented grin, frozen in the minutes
Just between the cracks of fingers
opened in the deluge, to let the sound
in-out-in-out
Mate the seconds to the minutes
create that hybrid hour
A body folded, twisted like contempt
on the telephone tongue
Perhaps is the new maybe
from coded glitches painted apathy
A heritage of thieves
glossed and shined by misdirection
A tender eyed glutton
held hostage by gravity
And the weight of decisions
rests in the depression of the sidewalk