the reason i don't speak is all that comes out is bad poetry frags

102100

sex leaves marks on
my legs and i feel
like there's blood
on the floor

i can't write
i cannot write

don't know the prelude

*on the top of the torn piece this was on, i found old notes, just "l'ange" and "information science, james tate, do not forget to go to ip." ehrm.

and angles. i draw those, much of the time.