lately, i am all pulse and no beat, a stinging wire buzzing naked on the pavement
stitches. stitches. i fight. i crack up the inseams tell her, on dust-covered shelves to get a new life.
the orange face fading on a poster of a demonic air-shot fist, raised like hell and revolution and messiah are earth-bound at this intersection. Because hope- the fuel that feeds the whole damned venture must roll to you over photocopied cause.
Yes. We are Fighting the Good Fight. All of Us. in opposition.
i pull her from my old frames. i dare ask her: “where are you now? do you believe the wonder i have become?” I do not.
remember me as i do- a scared boygirl with too-late thumb-sucking addiction and greasy pink glasses.
Remember me as i do- a girl in parachute pants with undone hair and lack of boyfriend.
Remember Me as I do- a sweater in a high school dance of dresses
I am crumpled-up paper. A story waiting to blow.