we all grew up resistent
be it to the belt the wall the plastic
bags in the sink
it has become comfortable for me
to smoke crouched in wet doorways
to believe i am forever and i am alone
at eleven i fell across a lucid path
the wind beat my eyebrows and felt bad
though never showed it
i waded in the pools of strangers
carved a lifeline where i had none
into my palm with a pocket knife saw
follow the blood into the front yard
where the lawyers gamble wearily
choose to move like a cougar
off the road filled with torchlight
i default into flour-bag breaths
with sleep patterns of plaid and cats' cradles
the resin sleeps under my fingernails
it begs like everyone to be enough
Monday, March 11, 2013
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