21st century poetry

April 4, 2014

He told me
he would break
to kiss me.

21st century love.

The kind you
in a messy bedroom
quoting lines
from a documentary
that made me

Not eating meat
stands for

He showed me
the movie
lying under covers
one arm around
a small waist and
a cigarette
out the window.

I call myself an
Eating scraps of
I stand for

21st century philosophies.

The kind we discuss
over the static of
a state line. That
kind of repetitive
thinking of all things

And he called himself an
existentialist but
he stands for something.

Documentaries don’t
show deleted
scenes. Documentaries
do not give you
contact information.

He kissed my
lips, breathed in
the faint smell of
chicken fingers
and bacon.

I told him
is 21st century poetry.



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