the fiend my little brother lives off on
offering up a sickness in derelict exchanges
a fiend even after a desperate hop
reveals more than a casualty of carelessness
we’ve smelled this desperation before
that infested dying still living smell
the overnight stink of skin being stretched
drained by dehydration
we’ve smelled this fear on dead uncles
but knowing never changes anything
even when we want to believe
daily, i wonder what emotion he tries to disguise
looking over his shoulder, my little brother
i wonder about his thoughts on this happening
what he notices first in the unfocused
shaky hands passing crumbled dirty dollars
i wonder what he smells
from a bloc away, a nothing to lose next
frying a hold-on un-epic explode
a fiend’s however brief brush with death
appeasing a codeine crash for an authentic
amnesiac expectation that trips on nostalgia
leaning against an absent wind
what use to be a walk
falters to maintain a stroll
and from a mile away
i see my worth being counted
against a counterfeited line full of mirrors
a prefect-fix aligning my words correct
making sense of paper-bagged exchanges
