bite like a lion
tired as a black egg in a boiler
weary and awake
meshing metaphors
they told me i was illegal
so wrong and against the law
cold
these short lived fractions
words that don’t
do my crime justice
cold at 1:37
the number seventeen
blinks on the screen
wake up,
sweetheart
call back or we won’t speak
for years
typically original
in your flaunted eyes
and creeping syllables
tried to find
and give advice
hips screwed on straight
running over black streets
and
finding shelter in corners
warm shadows waiting for transition
this makes no sense to you
pupils blurring
secret pleasure
in a new version
of an old delusion
