Adaptation

i could effortlessly write
another poem
about being fucked up and thoughtful

(write what you know and all that)

but whiskey high, marijuana revival, and casual
sex
notwithstanding

this jet-liner
is crash landing
in entirely new territory,

and i don’t yet
have the words
to express
the mosaic depth
of the tectonic shift.

pardon the shitty
pieces
in the intermediate rift
between
adolescent inebriation

and the sober 
inculcation

of new 
perspective.

Willie Watt
5.29.16

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