I was reunited with what I thought I would long forget
Yesterday over heat over easy I reminisced the bury in my belly
It felt runny
Now I am unsure.
I have a document
periods commas pages
all proving worth
it did exist
which is necessary
because everyone else forgot
Whether my grave wants to rise
with necks of corn starch and golden scars
the diagnosis proxies ubiquitous is still the same:
You have a cultural disease
I'm afraid I've lost the pill to pop
it dropped out of a small hole in my
denim.
Knowing myself I will resuscitate the zombie. Though Perhaps This Time He Will Be His Own Beast, Not My Own.
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