Wednesday, January 11, 2017


There was a throw up taste in my mouth and
A sort of self-loathing that didn't know
If it was put on or not
Swimming in my bloodstream when
The man,
Short and bald I think,
Gave me two dozen roses
Then let me be
On a train headed north.
Back then it was the roses,
Which I later hung all around my dorm room
And kept for many years later,
That made me swell and drift in dreams,
But now it is the fact he wanted nothing from me in return
That feels most remarkable.

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