No One Loves the Words That Love Them

Here we are, ruminative,
Declarative, abstractive,
Generally generalizing.

Screw us. We don’t write so well.
We feel faint. We are written,
Typed typeface. We are typefaced.

You want details. The bedsheets
Trail on the floor like curtains
In front of the House of Dust.

No? That fly you smacked lies crushed.
A digital motet sings.
The lights around your eyes change.

Details are sugar and salt.
We’re your iron, bloody tongued.