the nicest
type-A
smile i can manage
it still doesn't compare, not enough or not more anyway
i'll say "i love you"
i'll say whatever is true, but how many times
do i have to say
what you don't want to hear?

is it what i want, you think? are my fingers
so rotten as to fall apart with disuse?

lately i need that antidote
thick yellow antibiotics entering my head
as if dripping through my ears,
like sucking tears from my upper lip

kicking around the input/output measures
of friends, groups,
stacking question and response alike
like used cigarettes

they sit in a corner somewhere and
rot with atrophy, zaftig with desires
ungranted

01/22/2007

Posted on 01/23/2007
Copyright © 2024 Corey Lockaby