In Which I Send Fan Mail To Your .Gov Account
@ the end of the soil regime.
There's nothing homeopathic about this.
- pathic, sure.
- homeo, maybe.
Any wisdom has retreated to Rogue River
and since caught fire
along with every friend,
every shelter,
craft lager, vague edifice
memorializing the end
of general disenchantment.
What snow didn’t get born this year!
Why not skip that ridiculous court date
& become your own lover?
I dreamt my Ponzi grew
thoroughly toppled.
Young sir you
heading out this fucking door
with that confession on your face?
If not for the ‘04 / ‘76 Philly Flyers
I’m not sure, Nuisance,
how I’d ever get outta this vice.
Let alone the neighborhood.
O, just leave that neighborhood alone.
They’re surely out to—
nvm, Maddie,
keep kneading that hot clay.
Ever throttle so hard
on your fresh kill you
razed morning anew?