the grilled fish place still open
and this entire street seems high
perforate the fish belly
to season the thought of death
lithe slippery body
flipping side A side B
chopsticks peeling the skin
so the soul can be free
it’s over now
completely naked
let the drunks puff air
at their staggering friends
put the skull in a wheel
crushed over and over
stopper the isolation
up in a bottle
the people who want to die haven’t
but move along in this glazed rut
picking out the bones as they go
toward the soft moon at the end of the street
who killed you