- Erotic Poetry
- Long Waits
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Thinking some things. My daughter called me a fool. I have no idea how I look to other people. Dramatic turns. Wiping each fault from the white board one stroke by one. I wish life was a series of pop-up scares as opposed to long waits for terror. Saw a ghost of a ghost and wondered if he had a heightened sense of smell. Everyone sees the something I cannot see. This one iris cries and cries. Mother fucker looks like Dion. The other, a nutty professor who still feels some guilt. But 'round here, could be anything.
69
"The sixties are dead for a reason."
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