It's Humid Out Here

It's humid out here
Economies always collapse
We smoke to pass the time
Far away lion cubs practice their growl
High above vultures hissing and they grunt
I can almost feel the fire ant's leer
guiding my bike faster past the tents
When the vultures land guerillas come out
It's the sun or shame inviting me to melt?
It's an aged cacao tree that I've hid behind
I think I taste a bitter kindness near

Paper Tooth

She made a paper tooth for grandma
with plenty of gold and silver glitter.
What gaudy thing! grandma said, bitter,
as if expecting the tooth to have been better,
not flat, not a child's gift, not yet another thing
she has to smile at, useless as her own sweater,
as her own memories; her bones.  Her heart.