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okay now I'll sleep. And critiques tomorrow for all!
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Bad poetry I was a smoker then. Everything was smoke
at one time or another. Sometimes
school will still billow up
or that time on the swings
constantly afraid of tumbling over too far. The world once truly
an oyster of boardwalks with fuzzy lights.
Storefronts of mild malaise because of the boarded windows of tyranny.
I never then tried to dress like a girl should
but sometimes now still like to swim in those rivers. Wondering what to do
about all the gender in my chin. My favorite colors since then have been
blue, red, yellow. I have written behind books the words
truculent, stygian, halcyon,
the language was really alive then stirring like a cement truck
before I decided to turn into a sculptor. I think still
that I’ve been tricked into this
polishing of the boots this
ajiva this
drawing in the dirt.
