Kristopher William Locke


Sit / Let me hear you wheeze / Don’t blurt
words that mean diddly to me / Give me
the growl / Noises from within / What do
you reckon when you gaze this face? This
map of creases / A display of disgrace / If
I proclaimed that I wasn’t afraid to put my
hands in the dirt, to love until it hurts, would
you believe me? If I told you the reversed
was true, would you still hang around to see?
See, I’ve been wearing these tattered wears for
years / Countless times they have betrayed
me / Controlled by some ill-fated compass /
Moving up, south, right, west / It’s a dangerous
game to go with the brain instead of that silly
thing inside yr chest / And yes, I know / This
hat / It’s really not destined for me / But if
I can be him for a minute or two then surely
I can become closer to you / Don’t bother
trying to tally the rings rung under these two
tired eyes / I’m merely on memoir eight of
the promised nine lives / If only you weren’t
too slow to recognize / That these tales I
tell are only tall stories / A series renewal of
short white lies / Still, I am thankful / For yr
stupidity / And my simple histories / I hope
you shut up and lay down with me / Because
the coffee is weak / And so are the knees.

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