BEE LB

cage in the back of the car

obedience erodes time
you’re not in trouble it’s a loaded gun
on my hip i’m just happy to see you
aren’t dead no one’s heard from you in days
nights threatening count
for nothing everyone hates you
seeing the face of my father in every man
on the street pride tangled around flag pole
split level full service salon church combo
lumberyard pub and grub
drinks taste pink
engraved whisky on the fridge
angel pin poking skin
unlocking a door to whom
i owe my health a forceful knock
waits for blood to well

––––

BEE LB is the facsimile of a living poet; a porcelain pierrot with a painted face. they collect champagne bottles, portraits of strange women, and diagnoses. they've been published in PULP, Dirt Child, MOODY, and Landfill, among others. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co