when the mouth of my mother
makes me curse across
McCarren Park in the twilight of summer.
It's actually cool to be me,
but I forget to remind myself about it,
while cyphering the sweet bitter sky
and how all we are is how glad we feel in the moment.
behold, everything you touch turns old,
but some dogs die
and semblance of time can't go on without us,
more then I can afford so give me your support.
give me my socks
so I can slip them on my cheesy feet and run away
to the nearest perfume
and do what I have to do.