baring a piece of my soul to buy this typewriter

cream cardstock—letters amassing

my name, how to reach

for me plain

in stamping ink.

i can bare a piece of my soul

on any given day to any given

stranger, i find perverse

delight in the torn

skin of the conventional.

rip nonchalance with glistening

teeth faintly stained by earthly

pleasures, teeth crowding

a mouth with no room left

to hold. i find no sense in biting

my tongue, i savor

the taste of unfamiliar

honesty—

writing myself into cream

cardstock, soul laid bare.