I live alive and accustomed to tuning
not sweet disorder but malleable
muck around by your back
how many landfills can we fill
together how much waste
can we lay while habitually
co-habiting and co-curating
our existing archive when
we exit our mummified
empty containers
live on and survive
even in my absence I’m
furious and fuming and
polluting the sky as we
speak and overlapping
with my ancestors
