Connect the Dots

I was born in a snowstorm
in the tropics
raised in a shotgun
shack on the tideflats
w/all the plastic spoons
a child could ever want

You don’t have to get
lost to be lost, my
mother told me, but I
wasn’t there

The movie rolled on endlessly
all my scenes were improvised
I don’t think there ever was a script

I missed the tsunami by only a few inches
& fell down on my knees inside the
4 walls of passion
w/the windows open
letting the dark seep in

like an amphetamine nosebleed