beatnik
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Dirty table, high chair, hungry bear
A mother eats her young,
doesn’t anybody care?
You don’t know my reason,
A melancholy longing settles over the streets & avenues heading east,
One third of tobacco in a pre-lit cigarette no longer satisfies rushing & starved organs,
You hear it.
You hear it on the news; you hear it in school.
You hear it from your parents, uncles, family friends:
“You are a freak; you’re a thing, you are separated, quarantined
The Sky is blue,And full of poo,falling, spiralling, down,from white and brown-speckledcreatures They call seagulls.
And the moral of this story is-Shit happens.
her body
swallows my body,
a willow wanes its
branches under the
crest of the moon,
the bloated earth
sings with air
swinging her body
disturbing the brown
threads of hair.
