This formless dress.
As mutton shuddering
drivers, coupled with
abuses of the tongue.
You again,
I find myself having to
watch out for all-of-a-
sudden evil. As today’s
highs are thanks
to yesterdays workouts,
so too the lows creep
steadily, irretrievable
losses. Already.
Everything takes muscle.
Until you learn what to
do with big open spaces.
Such that even one
second is a clumsily
large unit of measure.
Awash, the spread
of the evening.
I'm choked with the push
to make something moving.
This world doesn't need
new things. It's scum, lad
—a sham—that slum lords
can find funds and still
some can't afford love.
But you mistake me
for someone with a big idea.
Everyone wants to be cool
and ruthless. As salt
on a bridge. A brute
but impunible.
Unruly but true.
