what poem is this?

exaggerate it

the opening I crawled in
the opening you gave me was wide

there is wind in our hair
your smile goes north

I can not shake this loser crow
but love is here like a pendant

stuck to my chest first a lapel
then father sort of pin with rose for only this day

there was jazz someplace in the building
a pump of realism
a shore of imagination pebbled
picking simple
simple pickling

I hate my self
it is too many reasons and some mornings
no raisins, not enough sunshine,
not enough beautiful low male black voices

recovery
who’s turn is it to make coffee?
I will have my sips from lovers tea cup
what ever she wants and
the mystery of making a poem fade
glow into the past and stay forever
what ever he wants

not much after this