feelin fell on the felon

a slight bubbly burn in my chest. a caffeinated glory hole

people popping thru left and right

i feel them watching me, feathery gazes,

i turn my head to lick up their attention. twitchy, witchy

in a new city again

where the trees don’t sprout branches until halfway up

like i didn’t sprout wings til halfway through my life

first i learned to walk and talk

then i learned to see

i’m only dead when i stop reading

whats in me and around me


de-molding the brain-tracks

cracking the code

leaving it dead on the road

merging with its ghost

which is feeling


uncouth maybe

still tastes like truth





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