I might sputter and spit.
Smoke, drink, and screw too fast.
Learn too slow.
I wait too long
and am far too short.
I write.
I wrong.
I know everything about you
but I can't find the right words.
Some writer.
You stumble and smile.
Smoke, drink, and screw too slow.
Move too fast.
Temper too short
and a list far too long.
You write.
You wrong.
You know everything about me
but you beg for certain words.
Some reader.
I kind of like our broken spines.
The burnt pages and ugly bookmarks.
I read too much into things,
people say,
and maybe they're right,
but I love this story.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem