Puking points puking projectiles to band up bang on bang under carriage the underbelly of life. Look, no—don’t look, look at endpoints at house at road at grass look on elsewhere or else and always going or leaving or coming or parking here that is aflame floating around this snake cauldron.
Published by KeiferMay
Keifer May is a young poet and essayist that lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana with his loving, artistic partner. He has been published in Confluence. He is sending poems to small presses as he works on finalizing his first chapbook (how ironic). View all posts by KeiferMay