Oh cherub
Oh rubber parody of the bare ease of spring
body afraid of mending as rival militias mend / Dissolving our western selves in the interest of survival
A new book is out, about the luxury of foraging, the luxuriously hip wilderness, did you liken the risk of too casual an existence to Odom's Cave, the way black women saunter into danger like preordained saviors, like the club was the underground railroad and maybe... afraid all our ideas behave like rhymes, too final, chicken grease in a dim in Adam — Oh barely entered summer we plan to scorch with mumbled confessions— that was me bent on producing another kind of man through the mobilization of rituals that had no value yet
That better have been me
