only fed
with coffee grounds
will hunt us still
Running in a pack they will speak
We are full
I like a house that looks lived in
When people are human
I don’t believe in
eye contact



The brain is an octopus or a centipede
It walks and swims
Into so many dead ends like limbs
or a maze you get lost in
There are tears storedĀ in the tentacles
It takes an earthquake to free them
But when the ground shakes
its nothing
Just another freight trainĀ moving through
Rattling the window panes but nothing comes loose
The concrete is still cold
The veins, still blue