Friday, March 31, 2017

the poet confesses

like february sunlight in
                 frozen fields

like crows


nothing connected to nothing in
the name of progress
and what i do is turn my
back on those who’ve escaped

what i fear is being 40
and then 45 and then 50

time is the enemy

words are for whores
               and addicts

i can never just
make myself shut up

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