Detergent does not nicotine
but a boy’s hands hold soap
in our stomach’s guts, an eye
for an eye can see, it isn’t
in there with a black and blue
that’s not flirting, for pity, for age
lost and wandering into glass
where there was a open door
taste a welcome with a shame
death fills a room with enemies
who still love one another
keep blaming burning paper
squinting in the wind beams
shining off the hospital window
in your Sunday’s best
Playlist
October 26, 2025
arden briar smith