Beard of Wasps

And I’m trying to dispense

Toothpaste from a cash machine

And lose weight by

Driving a car

My skin is red with a rash

Not a tan

From a week before

And If I pick long enough

It’ll leave a scar.

Writing down other peoples thoughts

in an anti-biographical memoir

a 1000 wet page dreams of brightly lit

dimming lights of love.

And at the end of a winding lane

Sleeps a saint with a bottle of whiskey

laid on a bench carved from an empty bag

filled with a beard of wasps.

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