revolver

Would you believe them if they said    what a sun was
   what gasoline or a     turtle asleep in the childhood’s weeds
Would you believe it if     what they said was muddy
   or a price gouge emulsion &      the violent cup

     kept there

Would you believe it   if they said what morning is what
   calendars or how to find out   the rust & poison
are necessity the work    is going on all night long all
   shocks are fed back to the source   (see old world

       fire escape girlhood gone)

Would you believe the jester god screaming in sockets
   or the mice in skiffs the     tabletop garbage w/nothing
the way a surrogate tells but     frozen like a syrup
   like a version of moss growing the milk flowing

       the blown up weeks

This is a country of blurry landscapes like a room you keep
   for the light where   the vitamins drug the final tree
where the limb blackens against the sky    and a gleam
   in the moneyed guts is nothing where    a big sun

      believes in you

   and sees

—

Originally published in Atmospheric #2

—

RM Haines runs Dead Mall Press. You can find his essays, poetry,
and self-printed books on Substack.