by Jocko Benoit Peter Neumann The raspberries so delicious yesterday are graying. The boy asks me what potential means since so many people use it around him, the way it was once attached to me. Is it better to not lead him on? For him to just be what he wants to be? There’s more potential in the banned collector’s gaming cards I found in the basement’s forgotten realms last night — worth thousands. More than my body and all my poems. And just then out of the woods comes our