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Poetry
Lost Angeles

Lost Angeles

I lost your voice, mountains, smog…
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Capulet Mag
I asked my dad if he was happy I was born

I asked my dad if he was happy I was born

Aphrodite came from foam, but me ­- I from a rib.
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Capulet Mag
I was voted most likely to be a housewife

I was voted most likely to be a housewife

Those who hate my apple pie have never been in love
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Capulet Mag
Nothing

Nothing

And she holds her liquor like a man, and she thinks if she stops drinking he’ll stop looking.
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Capulet Mag
Un-Vesseled

Un-Vesseled

I will talk to you only in brush strokes from now on.
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Capulet Mag
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