camel city spilled ink

a queer chain smoker's secrets

1 note


i have a friend who drives a car nicer than mine

not because it’s expensive

or has less dings

and [its bones rattle less]


my car doesn’t rattle, [it screams]

i went to private school

my dad feels guilty

i was a good girl


except now i’m a bad boy

[my dad doesn’t speak to me]

my car smells like

menthol cigarettes and pot smoke


there’s a fine snow

of white powder on the dashboard

and the [steering wheel grumbles]

about my vodka grip


there used to be religious tracts

[yelling from between the seats]

now there’s a silver water bottle

that whispers of gin


i would much rather be

in my friend’s car

with its [dents]

and growls


its smell of freedom


black and milds

mountain ranges [for miles]


a lazy kiss

a rushing river

places I’ve never been

but [dream of every night]


that car could drive me to my death

and i would [smile]

the whole way down the mountainside

or into that rocky river


unlike mine

with its [fitful sleeps]

razor blades



that car would be perfect

to [die] in

with liberation and wilderness

soft on the lips

Filed under poetry spilled ink 4/9/13 tranarrrchy

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