It only took one bottle
Two vertical lines
A pair of stress fracture eyes
Four cigarette brown walls
All your sharp teeth
And calcium defenciencies
This is the blues
And now it’s on the wire because it’s on the wires on the back of your teeth
Like an insurance scam
Like the morning sickness that you hang from your throat
Get it out
Now everyone knows it But it’s just a bad case of finger-in-throat disorder
You
Some bottle blonde
All knees and forearms and epithets like your place or mine or death
Stop
Measure your words like salt
Take in this oxygen
No one saw a thing
Until the phone rings and a pair of ashtray lips say, it’s you
You did this to me