My mother is a GODDESS

frick park @ night
the stag runs away from me
chooses instead the busy thoroughfare
lesser of two evils i guess
smoking the disfigured joint
Margaret rolled me i wrap myself
in a shawl listen
to Depression Cherry twice through
     Poetry

my boring boring list

of all the shit i hold onto for what seems
like way too long
guess i find it weird
that death ends with a fruit basket
donations in lieu of hyacinths
which come anyway
i guess it’s normal
to grieve a loss 4ever
to hate the grief &
think instead of my mother
very alive
who cuts up fruit into little baby cubes
puts them in little baby jars
loves me while she can