you know it

crisp grace notes like a flowing falsehood
flavored to taste after brazen attempts to pare
film on the firmament, light broken apart and bent
aberrancy for the sake of itself, or if for some other thing, I did not see it
cross sections of old films and well-functioning defense mechanisms
healed better, not so pretty “I feel”
kissing you made me sick-frozen from fright of bite
troubled is as troubled does
scapegoats fancied like play lists played as bedtime stories
for empty people with excuses between the bed sheets
shrills to a march, whose heart is not there
to solidify a fog into all-out rain, to further menace a drear
grope my rain-soaked trousers, I’m meat
worry not: your name is safe with me
and there will be no lies handed out
because we’re fiction enough to ourselves
to tire us even in sleep

b.robb