Frescobaldi
You were pilot of a ship with three flags, spilled coffee, defunct Hydroflasks, and dry erase markers. The over-watered plants drooped toward us as if bowing, but they’re dying. My least favorite surrealist poet is staring at me from the corner. She’s a stressful coworker who comes to work early and talks on the phone. Frescobaldi seems too sharp, my shoes, too brown.
art by DulceChicoLatina

















