cities.

literally out of my journal. G train Brooklyn thoughts.

me, me, me. 

literature, poetry.

me, me, me,

god have mercy.

psychotherapy,reality check.

Grass fed, milk legs.

Pale cheekbones,

Smoke cigarettes and mouth wrinkles.

me, me, me,

pay stubs to make my stomach sick

me,me, me

in a crowded city.

me me me

no need for commas.

me,me,me 

your bites.

me, me, me

i don't like to feel your salt on me. 

not here yet, even by myself. 

me, me, me, 

I need my mother.

me, me, me, 

give me those pink and blue and orange pills.

me, me, me 

poor me, oh save me.

before your tongue blisters gold.

before she twines her yellow legs into your hair

before she kisses each constellation of that shallow pink line along your back

that was once my evening sleeping sky.

Reviews

[Peter Joseph Swanson]

Wonderful!