115poem

February 22, 2011

That toddy haze you emit slurs me,
if I may say so without offending your sweet,
lofting toxins. The slimmer your lines, the more
I stretch out. The harder you stare, the harder
your stare, because let’s be honest nobody is looking
except me and I’m trying to be poetic on a slow day.

Let me suggest a better handhold from which to sling
your better half to a better place that accepts
that kind of upholstered pomp. It’s called: happiness.
Invent your own watered-down brand to display like days
and streets and the places your shiny shoes will touch.
It really is that easy; don’t mention it; you’re welcome.

LOCATION: Belo Horizonte, Brazil – All the girls in the city decided to wear black as if at a funeral/

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