I was young once. I dug holesnear a canal and almost drowned.
I filled notebooks with wordsas carefully as a hunter loads his shotgun.
I had a father also, and I came second to an addiction.
I spent a summer swallowing seedsand nothing ever grew in my stomach.
Every woman I kissed,I kissed as if I loved her.
My left and right hands were rivals.
After I hit puberty, I was kicked out of my parents’ houseat least twice a year. No matter when you receive thisthere was music playing now.
Your grandfather isn’tmy father. I chose to do something with my lifethat I knew I could fail at.
I spent my whole life walkingand hid such colorful wings.–Brian Trimboli
from Rattle #29