I’m naked and the green apple bolus I work
near to chokes in the back of neck/ the girl in the lobby holds her own hands/and the English
work the room.
One substantial moment after another in Beverly Hills
(far greyer and broken down than you’ve been led to believe)
who holds true as a pistol under a pillow.
I will not transfix in the heart of america’s worst city, nor settle for less, or expect
those hot dying sunrays to brown our insides clean. Too alone for cryptisisms
too married to my work to carryon through this sand.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment