poetry workshops help me reconcile
with the fact that I never owned
an Alien Workshop skateboard
or a Stussy shirt or Fila shoes.
pizza in the air, punk rock right now,
throw your old ideas in the dumper,
spit on your grandparents
for ruining the world.
pretty much always with a knife in my teeth,
in a dance with two eagles within a token year,
the mechanics of legend, I shout
from a balcony but somewhere better.
put this with your grief,
add some marigolds,
and a broken wheel for healing,
because everything is someday gone.
probably gonna get fun
and buy those things I never could,
just to prove a point to myself,
then forget about it all by tomorrow's tomorrow.
painting and eating,
in that order, like horses or dead goats,
because what corners me
is not the definition of chewing, choking on chance.