all the rage, did i
blow it all out.
couldn’t have. impossible.
d’uh. but i tried. it seemed
endless. i don’t remember yelling like my
father. yeah, dad. always
good for a lesson in retrospect.
how did i get here?
i do hope to find out. but until then i’m
just going to
keep on keeping on. feeling
lousy is a failure, which is the f word i
might should’ve used instead of the father above, but
nope. i’m not going back. that’s strictly
out of the question.
peanut butter.
queer hunger. (my tummy grumbles while)
reading is writing to me. or it’s
surely what gives birth
to it. writing. i’m
uppity about my poetry.
very. at times.
what of it?! so much so that, hey,
x is my last name. remember that while
you’re out all night “zithering your
zither”. i, too, once lived in a zoo.
