Cold and naked like iron church bells
I rang thoughts each more hollow than the next.
Through my mind I skulled over tomorrow,
my bare-mattress weight stuck to my twenty-one-year-old
bones hesitating with the heat.

July tastes all moonshine and sunshine
until your alone without company and the fruit
of adventure decays romance from it candy sweet
fragrance leaving like a raspberry bruise,
a penalty scared on your mommas red lips:
How ya gonna make a living sweetheart?

Eh, I’ll grab a buoy and drink wine until
my teeth rot and ill say **** tomorrow,
Ill **** drunks and scribble my tin sorrows
in ***** yellow journals. I’ll bear my chest
to strangers with ******* hard against the moon.

Because I know
when I find routine,
I’ll be skin-laced and bored,
undertowed and unseen.