Gas Poem by matt fromm
Gas
feet are too wet. hands are too cold. cant remember the lyrics to the anthem. sick in the head. sick in the gut. listening to more saleiri than mozart. wondering what the hell is going on. i sat on a bus bench the other night. a white car with tinted windows rolled up. it stayed there for a few minutes. then it drove away. i keep thinking about moving out of l.a. but where the hell am i gonna go?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 12:08:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
