​BLACK MARKET LIT

“Moral Code”

Seems to be buried underneath the chest

Shoved under a perfectly made (yet still jazzy)

Bed with blankets layered underneath the empty bottles of whiskey and spandex.

Laid above that bed is a skeleton with hair uncharacteristically intact

(yet matted in places that suggest unruly behavior).

Next to the skeleton is a slightly overweight (and unshaven) beast of another kind,

Eyes emerge under the bags (and unruliness, again).

There’s a rip in the pants that hang over the chair

That your mother bought at the antique store

(or upscale flee market)

And there’s the square plastic thing

(definitely Made In China)

That is vibe-ing.

You smile to yourself under the hallows of your cheeks

(still with the blush on the apples)

And feel satisfied by that sound.