poems

pack up your bags and go and seekstreets will crumble around your namefrom whence you came time lingers and stops at makeout creekalthough stagnant, it must be water, stillthey say it stingswhen kids drill fingers into cheeksand on their arms and legssome familiar streaksthat keep the adults meekbrings about how we sing abouthow the board…

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awkward handshakes eat the soulhowever,turning the faucet on,has no effect on my well-beingwell, being has no effect onturning the faucet onhowever,the soul eats awkward handshakes

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the late spring spreads her teardropsdusk must return to dawnwake up once more,pick your pieces up, yawnthe summer freezes up the jawopen still, the maw i think i might be reali think i might feel again,this late spring,spreads her dust and beginsto feel more and more kin

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