Where are all those gorgeous words?
I used to be...so...
I can't remember now, I'm too aware of the space I occupy.

Back in the day, my tongue dripped honey into a smoky spotlight, and now I am an ashtray on the counter of some nameless diner. There are greasy spots on the check. There are mumbling chants of chewing patrons
spitting poetry into napkins
and I hate the summertime
because my words are dusty.

I used to be...so...
lush, wet, mossy, glistening proud
humble lovely intelligently sticky
I never used to get pimples on my ass
what is going on?

Where are all those gorgeous words?
Somewhere there is a book with my heart in it, it was in my back pocket and it must have fallen out on my way back home and now that I think about it I do recall hearing the distinct sound of letters hitting the pavement like those little crumbs of windshield glass you see scattered after an accident.

I used to be...so...
lucid, crystalline,
childlike in springtime blossoms, fragile...
boys liked me
my life was fun.

I used to know how to end my poems
and now,
it's never enough
just one more word
it's
one more word
never
one more word
enough.