#pursepoetry

Disarmament from ropes, lead pipes and guns, I sit on a crooked, wet and splintered make-shift bench. I find myself amongst the rock crabs looking for safe cracks to hide myself in. Noise he calls it when

Sometimes after you’ve drunk the acid it’s hard to tell if things are moving? My neighbor cut down the line of arborvitae that prevented him from looking straight through his window into mine, rolled them