warper

I skimmed 1,000 car grills and
trolled infinitely along the lines of conversations
And I don't find it difficult to write
poems and I don't wrestle with its
ease. I duly cringe at my own
outpourings and swallow the
residual drifting feelings.
I studied the topography of my
mother's scalp through the strands
of her fleeting hair and I felt fourth
grade in a nutshell

"What's a Bidet, Player?"

I went crazy for 12 hours
my dreams bubbled over
into waking and the world turned
Weird.

There were wolves perched on
spears as I held Latin verbs.
A girl had buckshot wounds on her
back like Hawaii splatters across the Pacific