biked along the pier or the marina or whateva-it’s-called with Ava the other week and thought: this is a place I’ve never been and/I wonder why/nothin’ is forever/I’ll be proud that I made it anyway and ain’t that what matters?/are the following: (a) everything is good now and (b) nothing feels different and © the keyboard automatically turns (c) into a copyright symbol/ism is so irritating: it’s always turning things into ideas I’m not tryna make ‘em into int in i in two years I’ve learned I’m prettier through other eyes: doll-like housewife ingénue class clown tomboy or somewhere in between, or maybe all of it is made up in the wrong side of my mind/the sentence! it has gotta end soon/I’ll get outta here, the prison was imaginary all along anyway/it’s kinda nice so I can’t complain/ing never got anyone anywhere/I’ve never been anyway.