Brett Stout

This Door was locked by David Berkowitz The pig tooth hangs from a vintage nailthe scissors cut and paste Tempe, Arizonajob for a cubicle cowboymakes one detestable, numbers never dialedwritten on stained Post-It notesshe called me an assholeand I call her deadno cigarettesplenty of blue pillssweep the memoriesunder the bedthe sand warps under midnight pressureunpaid billsby thepeople…