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on seventeen MAG
i load up my passports with trips to canada,
save up space for mexico and
keep empty experience-time tucked in my pockets for later
i draft an email and i delete it.
i heard kissing is a sure way to get mono.
i have unlimited texting and only message
my parents. (I’m told smokers hang out behind the dumpsters and so i never stay after school.)
i say i’ll probably go to california for college.
i don’t take the sat.
i’m riding on a splattering of sunlight i dreamed up
while dozing on the bus ride home,
and i’m refusing to imagine the insides of any buildings.
last monday i sealed a box bound for the northeast,
put my poetry in a package and prepared to ship it away
but it fell in a ditch on the way to the mailbox
and there might have been a dead body down there
or someone waiting with a knife to rape me,
and so i left it
and came back home.
(editors are notoriously harsh in new york anyway.)
(i doubt i missed anything good.)
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