there are things that I could say

that would surely spill out;

out--

previously within--

and settle heavily

(within-ness and without-ness?)

as the sky grows darker, naturally,

at this latitude

in contrast to the sweat and squeezing and breathiness

of the second coast

forgive me, black city,

second city.

i want for nothing.

I want for nothing there,

but here

I want it all

and I want it now/past/future/present

(forgive me, father, for I have sinned).

the river flows at night

for added effect

(pan to the left, pan to the right!)

“clark and division”

division, dividing, divine?

grace from the three branches

polluted trinity, cloudy and unsure,

structurally sound,  permitted, and peer reviewed.

why keep things from being symbolic?

human nature,

human nature

this is a poem, after all.

i feel as though i'm tainting my teenage years, but perhaps this is a greater moment of self-reflection since i somehow keep saying to people "i wish i was eighteen again".

what happened?

when did all of this happen?

fuck, man. there's nothing left of me anymore...

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

why

are people so without interests nowadays?

you gotta shake real low!
and keep your ass to the floor!

http://jamaisvous.tumblr.com/

   ben giles