Honesty in the literal ghetto
sinks into warm flesh like a knife
The virtual one is a little more subtle
with cancers which move like glaciers
to chill unsuspecting spirit slowly

Choking on ice particles
is different from drowning

Mud puddles aren’t always made by downpours
often wet slides off forms of world-weariness

My mouth might even stutter
if I truly possessed tongue
beyond iced excrement