nothing left

someone said something once and we ate or maybe they didn’t say much but their shattered teeth begged for our wings and tongues and the ecstasy of flesh becoming nest and the careless jaws of machines swallowing for the sake of it for a two cent ribbon or a goldfish in a bag

or to feel teeth and teeth or the sound of lifeless orgasms

or feel what was left of whatever existed there once in the town we’d grown to hate

some days the sun told us which mound was next in that highway median

and because no one else talked we listened

other days it was quiet under those clouds and we didn’t eat much at all

sometimes we were happiest those days when our stomachs were empty