tent-scraper

sworn in your words fall like water over cliffs
add nothing to the pot, nothing
and you are wasting away like moments un-had.

seriousness drains you and leaves you broken (how you have earned the right to be) and crooked over sinks and couch arms anyone that comes near can put it safely unsafely to you (you're an army of crowded fuck lines, tan lines) and soon, winded

there'll be choices, solitary without airways and like (or unlike) the ones before you you'll drown in your own wandering eyes.

2004-06-27 | 10:03 a.m.
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