Like I care.
Like I’m scared,
like I’m quaking
in my flip flops
about spring
shaking
its ta-tas,
its neonate, bulbiform tabula
rasas;
like I’m induced
to declare
by a mendicant
heart, a hobo – ha! –
its vena
and cava,
its blood blasting tuba –
some sort of surrender,
a red rover,
red rover
send-the-stupidly-
roscid-
pellucid-
girl-over;
like
I‘m a kind to beware
undying
others or somethings,
as if somewhere
there’s change that is spare
and its shining
the shimmer-
less toss
of my hair;
like I’m eager to moss,
like
I’m hell bent on
spawning
a moon;
like
I’m dying to dare
the ampere;
like I’m beating
the skin
of a drum:
come here,
here, here,
come.
