June First Flow

Congruent with my mindset, I double my bet
That my words are as wet as a fishermen’s net
Some are surprised that I’m just eighteen
A poet on the scene, already living the dream
And I soak like a catfish in a mud flow city
With my wit like whiskers, I sense things are gritty
I stopped and thought, and for a moment I fought
My whuttering mind raging a mindfish of rot
With tones of nonsense grimy like wake up gutters
My wounds were the city’s, written in pen on the shutters