Your Good Friend

Put your hands on me, new age;

Put your guards down—feel as

air feels new rules—feel me live,

as new world is rotated our way

instead—through sunlit fields


This stage

barely grows; I

don’t need to try

so many foreign roads;

the gasoline won’t spark

this way as foretold


Add false light’s flash—we part

As night complies, even when

it’s damp; I drive all night; I hope

you feel its weight

in the guts of the map


In this state

I can barely stand;

I don’t have to try;

your mind’s askance.

I wish it could be,

as I saw it before,

my new age in bloom—the lovely girl

I met by chance

on the fat of the land


It’ll never be again:

My New Age—

out scaring boys,

the boys

I wanted to be.


Signed sincerely and always—

                                                                                                Your Good Friend.


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