Monday, March 19, 2018

Daily Prose Poem


I had my first taste in a college town, two blocks past an art gallery where I'd caught my first little sneeze of femininity. I rolled the liquid herb between my tongue and teeth, sugar-sweet and bitter-bronze; flipped a book edited by Billy Collins to some random page, and began to read half-heartedly. I remember grafitti tables and a bathroom without heat in a cafe dotted with hipsters vying for some other-worldly understanding. And at once I felt as one.

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