Within letters to a lucid version of
the girl I left behind me who
was bad at being good
the happiest anarchist that ever was.
Legs criss-crossing like scissors chopping off
waves of traitorous crimson hair
kissing golden freckles from the sun.
And she smiles at you
through the gaps in her teeth
through her missing marbles
through and back between the opaque
(
Read more... )