an erasure just to appease the
seemingly white swath behind
our five minute conversation an
open boat behind a white swath
our words have twin enclosures
one is a bruised popcorn cloud
of racist language & one is why
only these words help the body
(if she’s sick) which is why I
enjoy goading this white matter
into a debate of hopelessness
to cajole the sick words & then
beat them into a slick food the
erasure of an appeased enclosure
our bruised worms will often lie
among such determined snails
as those beneath the ever sweet
bleeps of our five minute bloats
