Saturday, April 18, 2020


if i could write caligraphy
it might make the way the night's
picking up look more inviting.
she's gone again, moving away
from the house and kids i mean it's not
like she tattooed them on her arm.
rustling like pandemonium
we want the poem to end soon
bury the symptom bound curfew
in the stories of her last psychosis.
it makes since, grampa dying,
the after party rape and reintroduction
to the drugs of youth is bound to take
a toll. but it doesn't have to be so ugly
if i could just use nicer penmanship.


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