POEM

tired.
six.

seven.
eight.

and how do you do?
and did i meet you?
and i have to get clean.
and i’m so sick of this.

tired six seven eight…
waiting for you to menstruate again.
remember and remunerate me for the times i painted my beard red;
i need another cup of coffee.

i’m so sick
of this
i’m so tired;
did i see you, that night, wandering, and crazy?
your sister…

i would wash myself in my sins to show
i would wash myself in my sins to show
i would wash myself in my sins to show