| Not so good poetry I wrote. I had a daydream of sitting in weeds.
the sun in the ashtray,
thawing cold feet.
I had a nightdream of crying over words,
the most brutal and beautiful I'd ever heard.
I had a daymare of choking on tongue,
the swelling goes down,
just to fill up my lungs.
I went to sleep.
I kept my lids shut.
I'd sit in the the flowers,
but I haven't the guts.
xxx |