'We are all poets' the words I wrote a masterpiece
fine art in charcoal with two golden creatures.
tongues on fire with riddles and word machines_edging
on the writer plea experiences both beautiful and mad.
I picture cities full of literature. imagery tattoed on
the arms of each civilian painting graffiti or the
virgin mary/child in hand.

young girl or teenagers structure stanzas of
perfect words. one cannot eavesdrop without being
shoved violent_years to the floor. it's just that
fucking gorgeous/picture seperation or unions matched
at the tip of a lovers pen_classic refined. redefined.
the shady pulse of a stopped-breathing child,
singing an opera are the veins so strategically placed
a dreary heart on my palm_the upside/

you'll have to excuse me while I adjust the
film photo dreamer at foot of bed_a noose of
all the things I've tried my best to see without the
opening of my eyes such as the curse-like dance
that is being a poet. the limitless reality
when the window is full. so full of life..
and where are we to write our prayers when the
walls are scratched/ a vice of being empty..

are we writing ourselves to the poets that we are so madly in love with?
being so full of expression_so full of battles
rebellions & anthems of love/eachother.
wonder pushes lines into my cities,
the ones I always write of..

the fast_asleep/always awake cities of my dreams..
my waking in the morning to an empty bed. well does it
mean anything at the perfectly corrupted age of
seventeen, and with age will I forget?

and with age will I follow?

Quietly muting myself_I must focus on those cities
[Los Angeles] a city of shotgun angels
New York [knife wielding king of showroom paradise]
I must place myself into the wounded hands of
our fallen idols _muted.muted.muted/I must focus
on those cities . A fallen relief.
A pill on my bedsheets or inside of my chest is a
bullet broken eyebrow burn/ drug for someone else
somebody other than myself_a killer ending.

sensational poetry for the poets,
entirely written by her with a heart
crushed on the bathroom floor_ after a kiss
set afire so tragically the end.

when the poetry moves/ a flame..
I am madly in love with every_poet