Detergent does not nicotine
but a boy’s hands hold soap
in the stomach’s guts, an eye
for an eye can see, it isn’t
in there with black and blue
flirting, for pity, for age
lost and wandering into the glass
where there was an open door
to taste welcome without shame
as if death fills a room with enemies
who still love one another
keep blaming burning trees
squinting in the wind beams
shining off the hospital windows
in our Sunday’s best
Playlist
October 26, 2025
arden briar smith