I punk like for real, Poetry Life & Times, January 2015
where them tights with the hole? this skirt
too toile. someone might think I effort,
tangle hair on purpose. no one even know
I wake up like six thirty bank account got money.
tuck it in before I get mistake.
your eyes, they tiny round and silver like eyes
one of those dolls people stick over the toilet paper way back
in the fifties before I was born you better believe
it. I seen those old, old movie. those hippie. them trailer-park
grandma face tape. I put my birt-tay right in my email.
mother fucker don’t tell me it’s semantics.
you got great big hair pony over your bald spot.
you camouflage, but I still recognize you, saggy
chin since you got marry, little soft
under arm. me, I stay single cinder-block bookcase
paint up myself, Goodwill cup, so much cooler than you.
we sit on the floor, make Kaballah and stuff.
my hip don’t hurt at all.
how about I wear little green dress linen always look wrinkle?
anyone can see I try (not), I care (not).
I forget what you even said when you came over