It was something I carried everywhere
It is something I carry everywhere
A kind of displacement from the world
A manufactured loneliness despite of you
A flick of anger would precipitate it
A manicured sense of injustice
Like a golf course blown by a storm
I don’t know what to do with it
Or what good can come out of it
I want to go to her house
And drink her cunt dry
Divagyrations 