Part Zero

Before there were
poems, stone
foliage
soaked up my
mourning like mildew

right ’round
late afternoon, which

is when most
defective
beauty, I
find, tends
to bloom.

Before my trains
of derailed
thoughts knew

sequels,

their sole
purpose was remedial.

Grammar was congenial; all periods
and commas in their
proper places, describing a league
of saddened faces,

rather than
playing
the part.

And I’ve taken too much of
this cityside drama to heart, spilling
ink like juice through
carpets.

(I can hear
my mother
yelling now, a hundred fifty dollars
poorer.

I’d just cost
her half of Christmas trying to
be a
grape drink artist.)

I’ve wasted far too many rhymes on dimebag deals when I should have been buying by the ounce- spared myself the
bus stop characters, grabbed my stash and simply bounced.

But this is
how I make
my peace with
bad posture and narcissism,

all my flaws in
high definition.

This is
my sanctuary.

However
fucked up,
I would never
change it for

a minute.

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9 thoughts on “Part Zero

  1. it’s late afternoon and I’m watching dirt blossom on the streets of an overheated city waiting to let off steam into the night

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    1. /doomed to the causes dusk
      tosses by
      the wayside as it settles
      behind the tipping point of
      heat waves

      đŸ˜€

      Like

  2. You published this on my birthday! haha

    I think this line is my favorite:

    “I’ve wasted far too many rhymes on dimebag deals when I should have been buying by the ounce- “

    Like

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