nothing left

someone said something once
and we ate
or maybe they didn’t say much
but their shattered teeth
begged for our wings
and tongues
and the ecstasy of flesh becoming nest
and the careless jaws of machines
swallowing
for the sake of it
for a two cent ribbon
or a goldfish in a bag

or to feel teeth and teeth
or the sound of lifeless orgasms

or feel what was left of
whatever existed there once
in the town we’d grown to hate

some days the sun told us
which mound was next
in that highway median

and because no one else talked
we listened

other days it was quiet
under those clouds
and we didn’t eat much at all

sometimes we were happiest those days
when our stomachs were empty