my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

" I wrote you a letter,
and then another letter,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a word.

So I wrote you a word,
and then another word,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a sentence.

So I wrote you a sentence,
and then another sentence,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a letter.

I hope it finds you as I found you.

Yours truly,
Yours, truly."

-Bo Burnham

he must’ve moved out

the neighborhood when i was little.

when he was here i bet he could ball,

probably could dunk.

        maybe he rap now.

maybe he is the boy on every wall.

we ain’t got graffiti over here

like for real art stuff but maybe

in the 80s he was optimistic. this was his all

city attempt all over the hood.

maybe he ain’t a he.

in the time before the Folks

Nation ran everything over here

maybe the presiding clique was RIP.

i see it everywhere:

                RIP Pierre

                RIP Bird

                RIP D

                RIP Man Man

maybe RIP is a girl.

i see her name next to all

the bad boys. all the big boys

my mama told me not to fool with.

maybe she’s all they girlfriends

at once. but they all

gone. no wonder

she keep finding new boys

to kiss.