I Grow Old In the Market

An old man asks me,
"look at this sugar plum!"
he wants to share
something gone bad, so,
"it doesn't look good,"
I tell him.

Ennui

typing a chunk of text, I am tired and my eyes glaze over. i see in front of me a gray mass with veins of white-space running through. i imagine pouring hot, colored wax into the top of the document, watching it trickle through and dry. i remember a candle, vanilla scented, that i found in the trunk of my car last summer. it was in a red garbage pail, melted, embalming the alarm clock next to it. i couldn't stand the smell of vanilla for months. and i remember earlier today, tasting something i used to like, what was it? but my taste buds must have changed and i don't like it anymore. i felt betrayed. by my own taste buds. what was it? what was it? maybe i took a nap.

Passing/I need a second job

Perfect grades
are not the same as being white
but they are close enough
for passing.