Excerpt from a work in progress

IV.
You were eight or nine but definetley
not ten and didn't know that song was
about AIDS but not long afterward you
cried after watching Tom Hanks in
Philidephia, convinced you'd never
get to slow dance in a sailor suit.



V.
And everything seemed so mullioned then-
yellow colored and light, truthful, like the way
you saw your body and didn't see your body.

VI.
I have wasted away the best mind of my youth
for eight million cigarettes and books whose endings
I can never remember.

VII.
The same rock songs sounds different when the
way you used to listen to them has become obsolete.
I have become so many butts and the butt
of too many of my own jokes and can barely stand to
take it all too seriously