Poem composed throughout the day. Oh, April you have winded me. I'm exhausted, but writing all the time nevertheless. Whoever is reading this, you keep me alive.
I Try Not to Miss Anyone.
I step off the L into downtown Pompeii.
The groupthink garden had BTK special:
breakfast serial of your choice plus some
Cheesehead doctor's master thesis on Sadism
as Nun Worship in 18th century France. Inside
each box was a Kansas CD, a mop top kit and
a pair of Chaplin pants. I adorned the mop and
trousers, used my past pair to parachute down
ninth until I reached the lake.
Pawn sacrifice the kisses and smoking in bed -
once besmirched, loan sharks mostly move back east,
gradually selling off strips of their social security for
spliff filters. I mix cocktails before noon, bulldoze
the afternoon into splinters. Who knows what evil
lurks in the hearts of your replacements for me?
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