Is not the literary mind
, in sum , defiant ?
they took their music and the
Feeling that they’d be
seventeen forever
26 and two days counting;
Didn’t even have the glory of 27,
Just a halfway thought-out header
That read, “Showed Promise.”
I equate religion
with the smooth circling
of these fish
through recycled waters.
Between trysts you toil,
knowing you aren’t
her only one.
And now every time you try to write a poem,
it feels like a
eulogy.
You may forget, but the riverbed does not.
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Just tell the lovely ladies of the Auxiliary,
that I’m here to speak to the reports of my demise,
which are being grossly inflated,