now on the fifth bed habitually laid in and labeled as ‘room’
some would call home,
but two standardizations of expat, in the second country
together but rarely on level,
(as the eponymous hero, Balance, susses out how to avoid reciprocity)
cannot feed the recreated abstract
—from a shape-shifting alien breast of concrete.
recreating as abstract
—it needs so little, gives much less;
contrast from the first enthrallment, and hysterics
tossed between two sets
of lost wisdom teeth
—keep us laced with coos, not caws.
if there was no rage, suspicion of resentment, suppression of childlike derogation
of which rule goes with which top,
senseless sacrifice, the strain of complacency, co-dependency, and misfired witticisms
amidst the chagrin we inflict,
the loop would cease to sting.
he, can ride assumptions with tired limbs,
she, for never more than an evening resting,
you, textually attempting to lick
the wallpaper back where the smoke likes to hide.