Author Information
Rugburn
Wondering what shit tree
I barked up
To rain this dirt
on myself.
Bout a million fucking books
on a shelf of could-haves
that if only I could grab
I would douse
the inner kerosene.
A glass coffee table
sits on the carpet
where rugburned
I dragged naked stomach
against the tiny apartment -
rug grains of truth
forcibly frictioned up
against white lie bellies...
I talk
But I just dug ground
that's plenty been shoveled
before...
And still a million souls
stay trapped
even further beneath what I call
the floor...
I should stop second guessing
and count
my fucking blessings.
