2009
11.30
11.30
And I arrived here
All washed up
Broken now, poor as I was before
But older, less chance of making the future I swore I would
Washed up
Crawl up this shore of broken words all crashing down
I’ll scratch out my first epic poem
On a cardboard sign, homeless
‘Will write for pussy’
And these words
Like junk, shot up in between my toes
So I can still wear short sleeves at work
Take naps in the conference rooms
When nobody’s looking