forensic entomology

there's no point to this foreplay;
dionysus is dying.

pictures from three years ago
--what a waste, what a waist--
like the smell of killing bugs
not the chemicals
the odor they emit
after being crushed.

oh it's a shame what a pity
look at those aviators roll
the hair looks like a wig now
and self-fulfilling prophecies
abound. who asked whom
to turn the lights out?

love letters and tattoos
that used to be new
piercings since removed
one chin, one love
one book at a time.
it all seemed so simple
so cut-and-dry
and now
now
this.

your bedroom at your
father's house as the background
holding the shotgun
you stole two years ago
your old bed a bare mattress+
the t-shirts fit back then
the shoe did
the crown.

but they don't anymore so you shrug
and shove your hands into the pockets
of your one-size-too-smalls
cringing as you rip scabs off
your hands' solder burns--
you might as well call
the whole thing off
you might as well
hold your head in the oven
but wait, it's electric.

foreman just called you, drunk
/called you "mikey"
but you let him 'cause he likes you/
telling you he won't be in.
mom just texted you high
saying "hi," she can't wait to escape
her home life for the operation
as she put it, "cut me up!"
oh god your world is spinning
and you can't point fingers fast enough.

can't
understand
normal
thinking.

you like that one. you'll keep it in
the repertoire.
just jerk yourself into submission
knowing that you'd never tame her.

these days they can tell
how long ago something has died
based on what species
of insects are inhabiting the corpse
eating it slowly, laying their eggs.
any takers?
any wagers?
five years.
five. of the longest. years. in his-
story.
\
a bow, sir. take a bow.
we didn't think you'd tread
water this long. you can stop now.
now
this.

we'll cross paths eventually
at the toll plaza.
you know it.
you know it, but you're still not ready.