Out Like A Lamb

wakes up in March. There was 

another before you. Walks like

an overacted portrayal of an army

man might walk if you could

envision such an exaggeration.

Has tattoos of tattoos. Has a 

box lives in a box lives by a 

box. Cries sometimes on the

sides of curbs. Shuns sometimes

and sometimes shuns for large

amounts of sometimes. Has curls

hidden by straights and apparently

has straights hidden by curls if 

you’re lucky enough to know. I am

not lucky enough to know. Carries

a mask in her bag like chameleons 

would if they couldn’t blend in 

without carrying masks around in

their bags. Used to dream. Swears

under Oath now. Wakes up in May. 

There is another before you. 

All this time.