You Wash by Cody Davis

Your wrist twists knife tip side
round my bone dish temple. Labotomy
drilled through soup.

My strainer brain loses heart worm noodles
wrapping numb my uvula.

In my lungs soap settles
smells like hope but thins like hope
or red hair waving the drain with a loud Shourewp!


Rediscovered land this weakend. Hollow like chocolate rabbits.

Prolific discovery
My drafts are high scribes,
med insurance info, then
an imaginary conversation
with a cop. 
Remember: Al Green
is tired of being alone. 
I once used the word maligned 
in conversation. 
But not with a cop.