Posted in Poems

Growing Pains

Look at

you.

You’re a sweat hog;
you’re a BABY.

A BABY.

You know, you can shop at a different store—
sunglasses are not

appropriate

bus attire.

I got really mad at you,
running around with

no regard, no control
twice a day for weeks.

38 years old and can’t figure out a temporary tattoo.

-07.28.17

 

 

Posted in Poems

Speaking in Tongue

We were talking
about how dreams work or
whatever—talking about eating cod tongue.
It’s tough because ya gotta think, “How’m I gonna do it?

The first thing that came to mind was Fireball.

I wish I had that kind of colour left in my heart.

-07.19.17