Sunday, December 21, 2014

car poemb

"You are being sax cyst."
Whut.
"I said you're being a
sax cyst."
boot heels shaved 20 degrees
how you and I
distribute weight
cold saturday morning
on fabric row
delivering to me whiffs
of sweet fruit trucks
hearing no cars would
not mean trouble
and this guy
is out here still in shorts