Shave your head and fake your breath
by RC Miller
[ poetry - april 10 ]
There is a room full of bodies
Some squatted some cardboard
A death with very little light
Comes fast against their plastic bags or their sheets
There are a dozen dreams from the bodies'
Good food and open bar
Stars offer the seriously crooked
Cellphones remaining in the street
Miles of pipeline to chase away the chills
And for pleasure prompt a clothing chain
Loved ones are calling and calling
Down stairways the rubble is under
An enormous stash of sandwich rolls
Shook and sent people toward high numbers
Decompositions of baby weight twist like spyware
The face of a dead country sewn onto a bowling ball
