by Corey Qureshi
The surface is self pleased with low wisdom
These guys start to look the same
a Haircut outside of the home is scary
Accidentally regressed into crisis but it dissipated
Youre skancedly nice. I breathe through it
And embarrassed later because.
If I could remember more through jumbled enthusiasms,
it wouldn't hurt to run through the days
Clean doesn't bring an emerged tunnel
I have no sense of measure nor do i care
Fresh tire marks on the corpse of my life
Flying thru days, months even
Smoked the last of my drugs
If you do weed right, it's drugs
and you are a danger to the community
I'm thinking gated fences
No I'm thinking full manifesto
The homemade sag of an amateur
If a self references, does anyone know or care??
I am barely in the green
Dirt encroaches
I like what I don't understand
Most times, people seem to really know what's wrong with you,
and they want to be clear about it, but they'll still love you
That slant of things, I'd leave it if possible
None of us can assess
None of us can accurately
assess each other
We're too blinded by
the moment and all the ways
We merge on each other
This guy cares so much
about his next small press contract,
he can't talk shit outside direct messages
The old guard doesn't know us the way
they do him, and our regular families
are embarrassed by all of this noise
Corey Qureshi is the author of several chapbooks of poetry, most recently you are bereft in October 2025. He runs the website/reading series BOXX Press. He lives in Philadelphia with his family. @q_boxo