This is how it went: the pilgrims, with their beige exoskeletons, six legs, antennae they travelled, they followed my misery, mistaking it for promised land, a place where they could be free and I learned the form of poetry in the exoskeleton, six legs, hourglass waist of a wasp on the windowsill I learned to […]
a found poem
A poem (feat. my fish)
It was going to happen eventually, I guess.
Another cryptic poem about fish.
I suppose this is what I meant to write all along.