A bludgeon
Try me try me try me try
The trees are still green and the roads striped white
Brilliant, shining, and oh god so neat
I have all the food
I just lost my teeth
I scroll through my posts
How was I young? How do I grow old?
This poem is all about me
So were the ones before.
The closet of my home beckons me back
Will I grow young again? Will I forget

Lack of ripples and a pollution of foam
This poem reads like the one
That I once thought felt like home.