Won't let your bad self.
Let go of your old debt.
Tiring of your old self.
Won't let your made bed.
Let your bad blood let.
Your grown debt get.
That grown self to sleep.
The what the fuck I meant.
In that slump long wind
clapping. Spitting storm
mean out my slow will. Head
a drum out the old lived.
Home won't my slow chill.
Say goodbye to me.
Or ghost off in the burning.
Cause the minute I burned it.
We were together again.
Palm pleated in the pomade.
All blue magic guarantee
of our broke-ass small pack wave.
Already too dark to see and.
That indigo shimmer shade and.
Already our old bloodied teeth
Our old flesh in a braid.
Singing my angry maybe
dad's bad pentameter way.
How I get so carsick I grieve.
Brown-bag the lowing heat.
The whole palpable Philly rides
all the way to the service.
His old value human gift.
Dust in a pine can. Six
years in the Delaware
I ain't ever getting back. No
plot. Ever safe from anyone.
Too late to help. Or stop
letting what I lost.
Be what I lost.
Copyright © 2021 David Bradford, Dream of No One but Myself, Brick Books