Tuesday, August 4, 2009


Let's say I'm still bow legged broad-backed foot bottom hard
from dragging in the okra-colored garbage bin to the back;

let's say I'm a gash that for too long has gone undressed,
gangster pathogens have readied me for labor so I'm paying;

let's say the amphetamines you gave me keep my teeth from
rattling and my bones from turning cold on my sheetless bed;

let's say I'm losing you pulling up alongside, asking me to come
with your sun-diluted eyes, saying I'm pretty, asking my name.

1 comment:

  1. Interesting poem. The string of adjectives is pretty intriguing.