and it comes

[vodkalov]

and it smells like last night's folly
the slip of a thigh
your head tipping between your shoulder blades
and the echo of your breathe says you're still flying
my god is a laser shot
neon taste of teeth
this ocean includes your ripple
this song stole your voice
tinsel in the trash
herded into the streets
we're all walking somewhere

Comments

[project_lithium]

This is some of the best poetry I've ever read. Not even just for this era, but period. I wish you would consider submitting your work somewhere, you are an amazing poet.

"It sounds like something they would publish in the New Yorker*"

*Though in the movie/book Running with Scissors this is said somewhat sarcastically, I mean it 100R.