I tried making dents
but they just looked like ellipsis
leading the audience somewhere else.

And some guy said,
after asking how to relax
when I had given him reiki as a
nice favor,
smirked on my apartment floor:
“Smile.”
“What do you look like naked?”
“How much?”

And I stood tall and robust
like a weed in Kensington’s
concrete garden:
being stepped on but then
growing suddenly
into a gun.

 

“my rate”

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