If we all agree to destroy ourselves together it will be much less depressing, hell, we'll even call it fun.

Champaign flows like trash
infested creeks, sludge can slow,
I fight for you like a bull
heaving dry and wet on his
prized day
reaching out
with fists bent into palms
breathing in all the sounds
from the rooftops, from the streets
the deadened, skeletal conversation,
words with no meat,
a tongue weak, only catches liquid
and no meaning,
an anemic phrase
and bulimic butterflies
to keep that pencil-line
smile stitched to your face.