I’m resurrecting this cake batter,
Call me pseudo sugar.
I’m bringing up old feelings
And I’m looking for a sweeter future.
lines on roads are only there
to chase: the winds
don’t mind them;
the leaves leave them;
my mind pays them
the asphalt comes up
to say how are you—
a polite introduction
for the gentle soot and your parched lips
Yesterday, I bought a pair of shoes
From a Value Village in Scarborough.
They were cheap and they were black,
And when I got home, I put them on
And slowly put together a black outfit
To stand in front of some mirror with.
I felt equal pleasure and revulsion.
World. Why am I so stupid?
Can someone make me a normal person?
When can I walk the streets without
Wanting to dead everything.
all the phases of the moon,
The second of sequences is the second
sister you even had. People got it wrong.
There were eight of you who equally
eased your way out of her womb.
You were just the first and forgotten.
Octavia was the one to tie her neatly into a bow.
Don’t be envious. Your (barren) home has flowers
that are tough enough for cacti.
I heard latin roots live together.
Octopi? cacti? Oozing over
the same squalid land.
Don’t worry. This wasteland
will get its own chance to be fruitful.