Flashback: Sunday Acid Poem

I feel like I’ve been raised
by wild beasts.

I’m the last of my species.

De facto.

No one is left to save
me or the world.

Amidst a calculating muck
of mice & men & dogs,

I feel grossly natural sucking in
New England smells
of coastal highway breeze.

Somewhere along the NE Atlantic coast, July ’10.

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