"when we fucked for the first time it was glorious though i still can’t decide, upon reflection, whether it was the execution or the alcohol..."
Tag: poem
there’s a hole in my bucket
"there's a hold in my particular bucket that can't be filled with mud or straw, though that would be a handy solution..."
the ball
"i walk down the hall and don’t see the world around me,
don’t notice the pictures on the wall,
pay no attention to the creaks my footfalls engender as i pass over sagging bits of floor..."