Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III
You recite his lyrics like they are a prayer, like it’s not a coincidence FOB has the same amount of letters as GOD.
Poetry
Pointed
I never / had. Big sweaters, / bigger glasses, / a patriarch.
Amy
The bourgeois adores the anti-bourgeois.
Monk
It was like I was faking an accent.
Bowie
Chaos, / encountered / unaware,
Fugitives
We wait in the car while the engine purrs / and I shiver in my Woody sweater / like it’s raining outside
Cerebral removalists
Moving house is moving between / pockets of time and space