Let’s join the Byrd gang and all go throw rocks through windows.
Let’s make Friday wait for us.
You are part knife, part slab of meat.
The world is a shark.
You know what comes next.
shark
(don’t) rock the vote
poetryit’s like
a pirate is
forcing me
to walk one
of two planks:
at the bottom
of the first a
shark waits with
gleaming teeth
the taste of blood
already in its mouth
while a leap off
the other would
entail filling the
entrails of a giant
fucking squid.
(perched upon
such a precarious
position, i pray the
pirate will suddenly die
leaving me free
to sail away.)
the sieve and the sand 