Plasma

stare into your cereal as it speaks in code

and your mother's lipstick curses the sun 

the dirty carpet ghost upstairs banging pipes 

the walls advising you to say your stomach hurts 

bum a smoke from monday morning (a gentleman 

and a scholar) follow the girls from catholic school 

the night tempts you with pizza with glass vials

with cereal sour milk broken cars action figures 

and the catholic girls their skirts wave like rumors

while your thin blood dances anemic and divine