I don't care if I'm 15 poems behind. I'm doing this.
The light rail is bad luck.
His voice crashed into my head, the city lights
burned the words into my retinas - I never
warranted the words I had embedded
like shrapnel into my skin - though
I seldom do.
Sleepers surrounded me in the 1 A.M.
voyage, but my mind awoke that night
to all the startling realities of my recent
I was tired