Poem, I think,
I made
It, I,
I made it!
You said
That was it.
You said
That would be it.
Hey!
Hey!
Hey! Where are you going around that corner with your silver studs and brown taps and absentee ballots and twist tie bracelets and police misfortunes and twister twisters and that half-sister your grandpa could only whisper through whiskey-truth-breath-starlight as we laugh through the magnetic starlight deep-cone in multi-colored snow cones obsessed with how our ankles look in filters not our own, and, disconnected, possibilities, possibilities up there -
And then
We have nothing to connect to
And then
We have nothing to believe in
And then
We have nothing but a reaction
Of a reaction
Of a
Reaction
Based on based
Chaos
Of an upside-down centrism
To only
keep the balance.