Degenerate

when our ruddied hands get all wishy-watery
our fingernails spill out
the silver scum of lottery.
our wallets gape
like hungering starlings
ah, but let us lose some more my darling

and let’s love like tin men
til the coils become flaccid
til our bodies corrode in atmosphere acid—
let’s love like a black and white classic—
but ah, ah
to take part in this generation

to not end poems with punctuation