Layering
Take what you can and call it even enough And I do And the worry bites my ankles until I wish i could wrap my whole body into this jacket.
Proto-post-womb-womb. Revolutionary, that feeling of safety, from the atmosphere (kinda) from the fruition of your gayness still budding and present in that womb (pre/post).
The cuffs, I brag, are adorned in corduroy and over forty years old. They don’t make clothes like they used to, I hear everyone saying. They don’t fill landfills like they used to anymore. My grandmother doesn’t fill my cup like she used to or my phone or my mailbox or my calendar just the echoing halls of my mind
where the proto-pre-earth-present womb contorts that pre-regret into present Anxious
The pockets, I brag, are huge and layered, holding clippings and plastic and pens And Oh! My wallet! Oh! My phone! Fuck it’s cold again?
So i look to her coat to once again soothe the present-past granddaughter That misses the future she wanted.
Vintage heirlooms, It’s so cool to have stuff that only you have so trendy, so dependable.
A Classic, truly.
