pick pocket.
pick pocketing pictures of
a memory so disoriented
with a face stamped on it
so displaced and disarranged.
it's ugly.
and i try to alter it and share with
it a feeling of harmony with my pride
steadily crumbling but still
it's ugly.
and it reminds me of why i keep picking
pockets of pictures with a memory so
disoriented because the face on it is
stamped so disgustingly.
and now i remember that it really wasn't me.
it wasn't i.
it wasn't she.
it was the face on the picture i pocketed after i picked it.
