My Younger Self Speaks to Me and I Write Down What She Says
If I hold down the buttonfor long enough,There are buttons made of possibility.Look, here’s another plate. No,it’s family-style, meaning fightyour sister for the drumstick, benda bone like you’re drawing an arrow,draw yourself into the picture.I’d like to be Artemis,instead am Madame Boeufsitting here consuming leftovers,a consummate lover of artifice.What waste before us now, whatthrills. I want reasons I can dipin ketchup. We’ll eventually seebehind the curtain, won’t we?Don’t look at me that way, you’re stillbuilt on validation, though I can’t quitesee you through the years.
