Poetry
Finding Poetry
Billy Little
its teeth
in my neck
eleven, a virgin
thawt it was my dog
never had a dog
died when I was six
slid oof the roof
out the dormer, my attic aerie
broke its back
on the picket fence
across the street
from the 18th century boneyard
but mehitable was my muse
no scotty
don marquis my blake
langston hughes' simple
my diogenes