We are broke
six dollars and two cigarettes to buy
rice milk, shampoo, and those dried cranberries
they wedge between my teeth
and make my waltzing taste buds do the electric slide. Before I die … I have resolved to lay prostrate
on a prayer rug
re-read Karl Marx and wonder when you, my dear, will drop the world on my head. And somewhere
there is an objective correlative
to my life. I don't want
your frilly metaphors
your fingernail clipping rhyme schemes
Listen, I don't want anything, I don't even want
my own life. I sold it
for six dollars and two cigarettes. We are broke.