NY POEM

My skull a submarine for life inside of death.

A neighborhood bog full of daffodils and greif.

I will carve letters into the trees,

But will the tree like that?

My spine is used as a sundial.

I cant get jim carrey out of my head, i see a specialist.

He says,”you must do the things you think you cannot do”

Are you complaint for these crimes?

Fuck the police

There’s a horse in the abandoned house

I cant see my legs at night in the kitchen, the dreams convince me they arent there

I ask for eggs in the morning, sunny side up.