scours like:
"This ain't a tissue in a paper mill, hon. We got shit to do."
and if it weren't for rock music
I'd never put my shoes on.
we're of that
barefoot-don't-give-me-shit
Generation.
nowhere near richer
but
when the snow settles
we'll have mountains
leading mountains
and i could talk about the city as though she were bleeding
or crying
or living
it's all inclement.
Dive-bar debutantes
We rave over
raising something from nothing.
Genuine haberdashery
coated wings in wax. free standing mantel monuments.
In it; we all pose
& layer & curl by heat pipes
& cavities.
and when Autumn rears Winter
it is a cold Birth.
matching blood types
like paired red wine.
If we O’ed over
and the points between A and B equaled
plus signs,
we’d somehow be a match
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