Awkward and daring
as the seconds spent
staring down
the stroke afflicted
side of a face in
casual conversation.
Adult and immature
as the twenty minutes
ticked by in a shower
stall attempting
to fuck standing up
in a space built for one.
Partial and stumbling
and forgettable
in a stalled stroke of
genius smacking
of temporary solutions
to problems never owned,
but known well enough
to believe relevance
could be adopted
instead of
born through flesh rent.
We were high
on our horses then,
well before
we could have known
the width of the wild
and the bleeding splits
at the corners of the mouth
that remind the head of life
beyond thirsting for
a wildly successful death.
original works of parts
