I cannot drive
a stick
but I can drive
a nail
into the heart of
a poem.

Does this matter?
This horridly confident walk birthed from the wide open black mouth.
And the bellies of frogs painted across the damp stretch.
Look not on my fur my sleek winding back-
My claws are sharp.
My, my, my, my am I not vile enough?
We'd beckon to the night and its surrendered kisses-
Black!
Black feline tarts, free yourself, dig your members deep into the...

Small spaces find me,
swallowed up and tangled
like a trellis.
Fingers crossed and
tongue-tied,
by an infinitesimal universe.

I'm not lying about a lack of chemistry
And Though I'm pretty good at math 
There is never enough time to calculate the wreckage we left behind.
I drink to impress you
And it doesn't quite ****** the blue ribbon
And I crack my knuckles because
it grosses you out
But it's for the reaction.
And though we smiled and played the piano on the wrong sides
it was still a melodic start that boiled into the frantic.

We were so drunk we couldn't climb to the roof so we jumped out the window.

John Berrymore wouldve been so proud we didn't break our crowns.

And I'm here now reading infront of you 
Fighting back a yawn pretending it's laughter.

I have tried so hard
to remain in my particular status,
duly occupied and irreverently busy.
So that now I am tired;
cracking like dry mud.
Or like a shattered pane of glass
I am spread out along the street,
Being carefully stepped over
waiting to be swept away.