bailey-bWhisper

American
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Where I'm FromI'm Bailey. / I sometimes forget to recycle. / I'm from singing camels and trigonometry.
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how to make me fall in love with youit's a lot harder than you think. / you have to be from the South, like me / or the North, like I want to be
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La Lloronai wonder / if someone else called you / to tell them a story
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Love is.THIS is what love is. / banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry / the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
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Namesake.So I've been thinking lately / What if / he's on a journey out to find himself
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Song of the PencilI suppose that I should be writing about the pencil itself, how its pale cerulean self lights up my taupe desk (yes, taupe.), or perhaps how the navy stamps that embellish it bleed a little at the sides / smeared, or even the sheer fact that it says "hoppy Easter"with little bunnies on it, which is ironic because it is January. / (and even funnier because the little bunnies look like demons waiting to pounce on your soul, slightly feline...feline bunnies?)
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A Poetic Sequence About Absolutely AnyoneI. / I lift my eyelids. / plipliplip.
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The Death of LiteratureThe scientist-psychiatrist / the psychologic sociologist / has proved with his statistics
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Self-portraitCompiled of all the parts / No one wishes to have / Fiery ropes that refuse to rest
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Construction.a stripe of asphalt on the blanket of green / I stare wordlessly out into other people's lives / peeking past the violet-tinted windows of the freeway
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