faulty utensils

Young poets offer: an honesty we don’t,
a glimpse of lives deleted.
Support the young poet.
Read him.

Art by Hulda Guzman

My wine glass
Has a very serious problem:
It always reaches the
State
Of being “empty”

Far too fast.
I think it has a leak
At the bottom.

And every pen
That I use
Seems to be out
Of ink –
How else do I explain
The endless notebooks filled
With blank pages?

My cigarette case, though,
Always has at least one.
I’m thankful for that.

But my soul.
That has a hole.
Although it’s not one you can fuck.

writing is the teeth that gnaw on my bones.

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