poem: “inside the outsider (on my own again)”

my ambitions are small things, held and taken like pills. I am unstable, crashing like clockwork; I tell people it is for the art, but I spend Monday nights alone: the cats throwing their faces at the well and laughinglaughing at the way the skulls smear. I have plans I had plans There are cities… Continue reading poem: “inside the outsider (on my own again)”