[Jeanne Hebuterne, Modigliani, 1919]
I’m a Person
I’m a person. I can write like a person. Or don’t you think so? Don’t say it. I’m blank on most everything. There I go. Walking. Wailing every damn piece of my life. Sittin’ awful staying loud and silly but I’m mostly wanting to be most all now far into the dark hill, so distilled! Whelp was constructed for you, you gone and I talk and stomp to my words cause that’s all in the big big air around here. You better believe it. You try it! You’ll fake it too! O load a pain. Get off it. Humble rolling just as smooth as Bosnia. You think that’s normal? I suppose. Drip down dale devils. I’m catching ever lost. O shit. Not again! Not a brave baker herded into a crusted lemon and led losingly low and . . . and . . . and . . . o lover!