The man stumbled through us,
After the swim,
And pulses pulled away.
He fixed me a postage-due gleam
And with Girls Gone Wild spectator splendor
Said, “Dude, you’re the man.”
I don’t feel like the man.
I’m just confused again.
Halfway down the block,
The corner zigged instead of zagged
And I was abandoned again,
The water thrown out with the weekend.
Underneath all potential damage,
I’m lying unfulfilled and empty,
Going on eleven.
Leave a comment
No comments yet.