binx.

mmm triple melts of re-run plastic
a burned hair smell underneath fresh cut nails.

it has stopped raining long enough for the sun to set
and cars to screech at its sight,
a vision of light pollution crested over their visor.

i have decided to smirk the cut shorts and curly frimps
blading under my bands and prickling my forehead.

i wait and wait and wait and want to know why
my stomach smiles like it
knows a secret spelled in the threads
inside my shirt.

there will never be a "best of"