legs up the wall reading poetry
as in twenty fifteen
except
I am sober
and less licentious
winter, sick as anything,
Pōneke, carving shapes into bodies
the composer, brilliant and
grossly underpaid
there was always
"success"
and then
a dead end
start again, start
again
this week, how the bills ?
dumpster dive and sublet
I didn't need anything
just a body beneath me, now and then
I miss the volatility of it
I miss dreaming and dancing it into being
I miss ___________
but I do not miss
smoky eyes, volcanic skin, asphyxiated lungs
I do not miss
the volatility of my own head
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