Could I be like Jack Kerouac?
This tin of tea visits me and pries apart the cracks
that leak and leak but never trickle to a pour.
How could I take the envy when I know I should be more?

Can we say my age is always on my mind and
all I've ever done has never been in time for me.

I miss the simple fears that wholeness cell for cell.
I miss the way it feels to peel away my shell.
But I would trade my decay for a strophe so I may
even out my evening with an ashen villainelle.

And can we say my age is always on my mind and
all I've ever done has never been in time for me.

It's hard to breathe
when you're high.

Can we say my age is always on my mind and
all I've ever done has never been in time for me.

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