love without laments
land without lord

your imperfection perfects me

mushy makeshift macaroni
over
fiery flames, fueled
by barky bushy brews
of kindling

I feel like white wooden window sills

Around every poorly lit street
the ones with cracks in the road
and coin beggars in the shadows
you will find my unwanted poster
a picture with clarity through time
from child to adolescent
the poster remains scattered
throughout this ****** city