she nibbles remorse
with tiny teeth,
marks on skin bite
back as memory twists.
Möbius laughs.
chin hairs crawl,
push out like bits of boy,
jutting from her past.
each one a line
of black
connecting to a life
not yet gone.
they form pretty patterns
from ugly schisms and fluff,
hand her forever
in stubble.
she turns up the dosage
and watches
with patient regard.











well at this moment we should take cae of our brat- the one who is


18 old applause
