HiDef

dinosaurs on tall grass.  what the

fuck are they doing?  waiting to devour

or be devoured.  did they climb mountains?

did they learn to fly out of spite? I want an answer

but I want more than answers 'cause I

want to be the one answering.

I make the art inside of me.  no-one knows

better to say I don't.  some of me resides

in a former era with carnival mirrors

and plastic bags.  is it too much to ask

when I say give me a woman who

has smooth skin and a jagged heart?

I'd rather not scan the ocean floor

for some remains when you can

find washed up ones on the beach

though I've thought about it

and even the bleach

is out of reach when you're a

leech stuck between the toes

of an unfinished poem