what would i
ever do with
all of you
anyway?
all try-hard lace,
perfume taste
unpleasant when
too close. away
grows a one--
bass and middle
notes subtle, single
floral, unpretentious,
a mood set and
no, not nauseous --
but, it's
urgent we keep
bare, sweating
summer backs
'gainst the
will of wisdom
we still lack.
at home festers
a growing mass
of frankie's old
rat pack fury.
shoulder-chip bags
a red salvia trip
from which
i gathered nothing,
utterly central in
her unfulfilling,
always-judging,
maddening--
cat-converter,
fuel injector,
black mold
in the tub again.
indebted,
inactive,
she thinks of
others' money.
No comments:
Post a Comment