6.7.17
FOOL(S)GOLD
hollow victories and re
opened wounds
the need to polish trophies just to
rub the rag’s face in.
where has temperance gone?
eating creel and lackluster for shine’s sake.
allowing time to disregard how my wrist
moves in tandem with greed.
do you tell the world, or eat your shame?
this bone i chew still kicks at my teeth
forgetting the arms that hold you
have taken men and women on their bellies
walking away with more than blood
on my hands
tied to these trophies they sound
petty with my name stamped on their cover
think of that next time you try to rope me in.
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