write for the lost
the
fucked
the insane
most of us
are never comfortable
anywhere
born into a boxer’s stance
weak like fading
orchids, weeping
a NYC fire
escape
hellish summertime
shifting, endlessly
downing pints of
IPA’s
b4 winter salsa classes
snow drifts
tax seminars
across the parking lot
walking away
the one you always
wanted
disappearing
around the corner
write for the lost
the
fucked
the insane
