By: JD DeHart
![advertising](https://i0.wp.com/literaryyard.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/advertising.png?resize=300%2C224&ssl=1)
They expect to etch
and trace in glass and
gas and plastic,
making me fragile
house promises,
foretelling more beautiful
skin and life,
sending me into
a frenzy of grabbing,
but I pause at the revolving
trap door and only mutter.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related