When all else fails, flip my hair and pack on the make up
fill up the lines with lies
hook up the bra with magnetic propaganda
but Jim keeps whispering to me from the dead
he made me type his every poem
while getting 100
back when typing had a rhythm
back when poets were rare.
Too much crap and bullshit snow
in beginning of spring
yet all the thieves of my heart
are running in the forest
barely visible to humanity
whose heads are bent
with neck spasms.
I studied it alright and took a break
no one is the best and no one is my favorite
a few appointments missed
will not change my life.
I miss you like a writer misses reading
but when I get my fix of modern love
I have to go back to ancient gods
and drink nectar.
I apologize for my messy…
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