today i'm feeling like a dead dog
on six day old
august pavement.
no lovers swarm around me
to remember their spontaneous moment.
only flies.
who among you will kiss
my fever-blistered lips?
my bloated stomach wretches
for the comfort of the
old green dumspter
i called my house,
so homesick am i.
i'm so sick of hope and
trust, and no sun has ever
shown me favor without
burning me first.
i'm wearing the best of
my saturday night special,
the old duck sauce t-shirt,
unraveled shorts, sandals.
i wear a culture-shocked heart
on my sleeve so everyone
can see i'm naive.