Homie, I am too close to vacation. Don’t push me. …Like the edge is rite dere. ……ok. Goodnight.
Fellow young poets, Today, with my hand held, I ambled upon a realization. Allow me to share. Take this. All of you, who like me, are moved to question the potency of the dreams you do not remember. Rolling over after awaking to read words drawn like blood from your bones only to find them inadequate, uneventful—dead. What purpose did that long night serve? Why am I so tired? When this occurs...