Perry’s Breakfast Cafe
We are always exploding in ourselves, fuchsias, algae, artificial milk and strange cake.
One arm goes that’a way, the other kangaroos on the map of a harp, a pure decision; the other is still going
Our bodies are fronds for suns of dirty women, we’re never sure and we always want one bite
of everything on the menu.
View all poems by Nicholas Jay Munoz
One arm goes that’a way, the other kangaroos on the map of a harp, a pure decision; the other is still going
Our bodies are fronds for suns of dirty women, we’re never sure and we always want one bite
of everything on the menu.
Nicholas Jay Munoz
View all poems by Nicholas Jay Munoz