.

you're probably right 
to the things I cant admit

so 
whatever I thought or felt 
tossed away 

simply, we agreed to skate

in whatever we dont 
want to say, try

again, junctures not unlike 
me in the closet in 1951

amidst the shoes, leather & dark 
till I was found 

and pulled out.

.

pot is burned. my fault & 
that the smell remains

to remind me of all I 
did 

& did not reveal in 40 years to ask 

forgiveness

its really just a complete sense 
of isolation & not in much control, so therefore -

I think of driving 
into the future: 

everything rage

but for the minuscule community Ð
instants of

us going against the global manufactured to raise 
the collective chant: 

fuck it