Oh I forgot,
just like I forget to sleep,
these days of spring...
When the birds sing, make love.
See, I don't read life,
or its books;
when I find a paperback,
I tear its cover,
build a wobbly ship,
and float it down the drain
that takes out the sins
of my commute,
to the depths of this
city I call home.
Then, my heart betrays me,
halfway through that peeled
bestseller...
Yes, I forgot how to write.
