Jack Tricarico
Windows jerk me off
I have no use for echoes
They only outline afterthoughts
That dwindle into rumors
A woman burned her husband’s balls
For flirting with her sister
Is that the truth? Or is it fiction?
Since seeing is believing
I will have to see the blisters
I sometimes look for time
As if I lost my wallet
On an early morning street
I wonder
Am I then? Or am I now?
And if I’m neither
Am I among the missing?
Pretense is an aspirin
That relieves my tired feet
Should I stroll above the rooftops
With a feather as my guide
It’s just an ancient memory
That can belong to any life
