clones in britian, blue block
houses and history book names. they said
try enough and you’ll be
good enough, you’ll be one of us. the tory boy
down the street, cat food hair, catches
butterfly corpses, also kisses
softly plastic girls, modern science melting
between your fingers. underneath fragile
girl, comes back blonde
bland. he stands on the porch and
watches her slim little ass, he says I
don’t know you please
go.
poem: poem for a book i haven’t read
the last pavilion 