They’ve begun to turn you,
those reflections – shimmering
grease and insect carcasses and rain.
Somewhere below your field of vision,
the place you know you belong
but deny its existence waits
to claim your sweet decay.
Filth is comfort, pain is familiar,
knowledge is a luxury belonging to Eden.
Open, friend, and swallow the air
such as it is- it doesn’t get much better
than the alley after a rain.