ain’t any good at being humantoo many rough edges that were never shaved offit’s as if the gentle hands that made mequit before they were finishedleaving a squarewhere a circle should liebut todayi am made of smokeinsubstantialuntouchablefollowing a vapor trailfed by the ashesof a girl without a nameon the city streetsof a neglected worldthat I inhabit foreverand however many times I squeeze into my spheremolding my edges...
