these ridges, seldom touched, commanded
me to wash my back clean of sweat, hate.
sea-side delivery. what the hell.
deliver me.
down in new orleans, we're
filling soup bowls and breadlines
with beer and prawns and
holy hell, it's not even mardi gras.
but the rain feels like it's filling us up
and the rest of the world
will just melt away with years.
and it does, actually.
this entire year will melt on my tongue
until it's nothing but wrappers and boxes
and maybe a little negative sign.
doesn't that bother me? obviously.
so i will take a shower in acid rain,
command my skin to bear the pain.
sea-side resorts never knew what to do with me.
this year i'll learn to forget.
1 comment:
i forgot to tell you that this was epic even though it's not superlong.
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