My Stupid Looking Head Tonight
I know a poet in Cuba, New York.
I feel like there’s a submarine in my stomach.
My submarine is a stomach
In an emptied swimming pool.
It is slowing down after a rapid spin.
My thoughts are really about an event horizon.
Damn, these fucking places I always come to.
It’s hate.
In Cuba, New York we’d walk on a cut grass path
Between raspberry bushes.
He’d mention this big square hand.
And there was all the pottery invisibly in a second story
Wood cabin.
I feel like there’s a submarine in my stomach.
My submarine is a stomach
In an emptied swimming pool.
It is slowing down after a rapid spin.
My thoughts are really about an event horizon.
Damn, these fucking places I always come to.
It’s hate.
In Cuba, New York we’d walk on a cut grass path
Between raspberry bushes.
He’d mention this big square hand.
And there was all the pottery invisibly in a second story
Wood cabin.
Miles Ross has a blog. He's a vegetarian. He's been to Florida, Canada, and Louisiana. He lives in New York.