the car windows were
saturated
like dog-nose
after we
left
we crossed the
state lines
of
panic &
disrepair
& sometimes
we had to pull over
to scream
or cry
or piss
or tear up the grass
& keep it as a souvenir
of one
of many places
we'd rather be
YOU ARE READING
I don't know what I'm doing yet
PoetrySome miscellaneous poems that I've over the years that are still trapped in the purgatory between chapbooks.
