My Heart is Made of Dust

We dress ourselves in linen sheets and soil.
Our sentences end with verbs
covered in dust from our idiot hearts
too tender still to speak
too brave to stop.
Whole phrases built with made up words
poison the air for anyone fool enough
to come in here believing.
HERE WE CARE ABOUT NOTHING.
We are void writ in semi-permanent ink
poked shallowly into our skin.
Made of earth made of star shit
mixed together.
And for what —– ?
FOR THIS. for nothing.
for valves made of dust.

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