Smell the breath of grass
First at their backs and bayonetted sides
Because this, the duty of the living:
Monthly Archives: July 2013
Untitled, draft, 07182013
I don’t give a shit
About the jungle
Or your long trek
To profitable madness
But all my questions
Turned to coin
As I sounded out that place’s strange name
Sweating, mosquito-thick, blood green
Impossible to itch
That place
…
I would recount this purple story
To my shrink if
I had a shrink, but
I really don’t give a shit.
Inkown [Draft, 070520131216]
Where will he go?
Half hemmed against
The water hand dancing through
Clouds in a ballet of stars
Night
Just night
Beneath the cold mountain
Where is he afraid to go?
