Monday, July 17, 2017


rolling the lint from my pockets between my fingers
into a ball
                 sitting on the toilet at 8am waiting to shit
reminds me of this time 1993 I think

pulling lint from my bellybutton between the buttons
of a shirt that no longer exists
                                                 through a shirt already
too small at a funeral for someone I can barely recall

nothing about the place is the same except maybe
the act
            the color of the walls which were beige
and the feeling of the lint on my skin.

No comments:

Post a Comment