Colleen Teitgen Colleen Teitgen Colleen Teitgen
Colleen Teitgen






Colleen Teitgen


Dirty pink footsteps
follow potless plastic saucer.
Navajo white banister
             chips away
                           at forgotten days.
Super Saturday Sale.
Stacks of “Have you seen me?”
beside “fuck” in glass.
             Cool, damp
rolling wheels
over last night’s sick.
                           Shiva dances
under brown
and crumbling skies.
                                                 Fallen tiles
of itchy foot
echo booming bass.
Golden curls
on yellow monkey
             eating silver angry horn.
Skipping over cracks
“it’ll break your mother’s back.”
             Crying splashes
of squeaky wipers
                           climb down
             two cement stairs.
Scavenger’s lonely clang
of crumpled muffins
in my dirty reflection.
             Shiny red and hard
mouthful of 4:37.
Moist florescent lights
“we’ll see but we” find
dripping brass beds.
“That’s right. That’s right.
Get back.”
                           Greasy stains
of half-shaven poodle
masked behind smoke.
             I’m going where I’m going.
I’m going
5217 green.
“What an asshole”
                           don’t you know
soggy little daffodils?



Colleen Teitgen Colleen Teitgen
Colleen Teitgen

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