not now son, daddy’s trying to take a selfie
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Cicadas bury themselves in small mouths
of the tree’s hollow, lie against the bark tongues like amulets,though it is I who pray I might shake off this skin and be raised
from the ground again. I have nothingto confess. I don’t yet know that I possess
a body built for love.
Richie Hofmann, “Idyll,” published in The New Yorker (via bostonpoetryslam)
hot mama in town !
me: has had 2 good days in a row
my brain: It’s Time
me: for what
my brain: It’s Time
deadly!