am i this tiny, tinkering town? am i the books i’ve read? am i my ravenous lust, my unraveling greed? oil over nipple, a plate of collard greens?

am i the hand-print on the wall? am i the metal lining from the cloud that rains acid?

and it’s not just youth... or just you. You don’t grow out of it or into it. it’s like wearing a second skin and forget... See more