my punctuation leans against unsteady semi-colons
like pillars
as i wrap my words around unsuspecting
girls
i love women
my subtlety swims summers around
whatever sadness is left in me
forgot to put a period at the end of this
so you judge

the inescapable nature of freedom is
anonymity.
i'm sorry. you didn't hear.
you pretend to read the first time.
anonymity.
i'll never know who you are and
you will never know who i am.
i am happier for it.

house of pain plays too loudly
off youtube.
child of the post-digital generation.
child of parents
and
parent to no child.
born into a definable, classifiable generation
like everyone else.

no bad deal.
no unfairness.
just the shame of flesh
the same as everybody else's mess.
my rhyme scheme dreams of
abstract girls with
their faces peeled off
endlessly loving my
pseudo-schizophrenic verse.

show me mine
i'll show you yours.

well, i'm still waiting.

What a lovely set of words you've got there.

why, thank you, for your input.

it is surprisingly appreciated.