Oct. 20, 2010
I'm staring a tattooed ass crack in the face.
Beneath it, a chair strains.
Beneath that, cracked and dirty heels spill over sandal soles.
The curdled milk is spotted with dark green ink stains of mold.
Blurred, stretched, faded.
All the while an insecure mouth spews forth words geared for approval and acceptance
But all I can think about is that poor, buckling chair
With its dusty spindles.
No comments:
Post a Comment