a guy named barry at cvs keeps
calling me love, looks at my id and says,
don’t worry; you still look good.
i know he’s messing with me, but i
just want to get my wine and toilet
paper and go home. it’s the same
guy that tried messing with my girl
last week. i feel like i should make a
scene, but i don’t. i think the words
me too as i angrily shift away.
religion claims to save you from
the abyss, but religion is the abyss.
thank the gods for the creatives;
oh how we need the creatives.
we came out of the beautiful black
water—wet and fresh and squeaking:
a bull’s eye in the midst of the
mess. babies don’t have to care.
years later, i’m wearing my suit of
wet clay; i’m swinging my rudder
to wide extremes across a wide sea.
at the end of the journey, it’s just me.
i can feel the light shedding;
i can feel the need to flee.
real heroes don’t
feel like heroes