You Ain’t Good at Failing Until You’re an Adult.


My adaption towards conformity
Is a survival technique.

And what did I fail for?
And what did my failure accomplish?

When I cut my throat,
My soul spilled
Down the Mississippi.
Echoing on various beaches
Like a bucket of ivory dominoes
Raining on linoleum.

And why did I yawn?
And what did my yawn accomplish?

When I waved my fingers like a brush
Impressionist contours rippled forward.
I said to the afternoon,
“I can fail at anything
And yawn
At dusk

The consumption of vision
Sagged into a mirage.
It was familiar
Because I could fail at anything
Especially reality.

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