—ALWAYS BEEN ONE FOR BITING MY TONGUE ’TIL BLOOD STARTS TO FILL MY MOUTH

true romance post-mortem

   (after mack miller, good news)

even now

when I see him

post-mortem

i see me

recognize the boy

a twin-set clone

the clay

and potential

a colt foaming

frothing

bit strapped

too harsh too tight

always awkward

and un-right

quirky uptight

always out of breath

near death

and bewildered

running rabid

trying to catch

up to

the wind

a pal

an answer

alibi

anchor

savior

and sure

i know

he isn’t me

he’s true

romance

squirming in the

discarded dust

grey ash pile

while it’s me here

breathing

uncouth and foolish

him there

singing on

the other side

where I

should be

yeah

yeah

maybe I’ll lay down

for a little

yeah

yeah

why not

why

why not?