I’m freshly germinated,
I’m learner plated,
regurgitating circa eighties post punk poetry,
trying to see how many times I can fit fuck into a sentence
until I’m saying it – relentlessly.
Fuck my pretentious simplifications of the world within which I breathe,
within which I bleed for a sea of fucked up injustices of which I see.
Fuck this system for persistently fucking me
and fuck this poem (for ending abruptly).
more by LUCAS HOWARD
Photograph by Alicja ColonHire An Editor