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poop, and other serious projects.
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Bad poetry I am as brave as a lion
I enjoy the car drives and
all of the shadows
gathered around the buildings
on this grey rock
with fluffs of neon and this morning
rose-coloured clouds hung around the windshield
also trying to think of a poem
so bored of the street.
It's hard to yell surrounded by so much space
I still prefer the mild discomfort of a book
that wants to be be a memory
to someone
anyone
there's already so much ink between the continents
most of us hardly understand any of it
anymore
