- If I'd offered million to one odds on a dollar on May 25, 2020
- goddamn Columbus statues beheaded and NASCAR betrays the Confederacy by June 10, 2020
- I'd settle the million you'd owe me buying me one imaginary digital pint
- I hadn't the vision to make that bet
- Two nights ago
- I never messed with this blog's fonts or
- monkeyed margins much less tested
- new visual identities, it's been eons
- since I even did you see it...
- I don't remember May in June
- I won't remember June in July, July in August, August in September, September in October, I bet I remember October 2020
- I never cursed on this blog, my apologies for the above gXXXXXm
I love you for shattering.
Someone has to. Just as someone
has to announce inadvertently
the end of grief or spring’s
splurge even as the bureaucracy’s
spittoon overflows. Someone has to come out
the other end of the labyrinth
saying, What’s the big deal?
Someone has to spend all day staring
at the data from outer space
or separating the receipts
or changing sheets in sour room after room.
I like it when the end of the toilet paper
is folded into a point.
I like napkins folded into swans
because I like wiping my mouth on swans.
Matriculates, come back from the dance floor
to sip at the lacrimal glands of chaos,
a god could be forgiven
for eating you, you’ve been such angels
just not very good ones.
You’ve put your tongue
into the peanut canister
of your best friend’s girlfriend’s mom.
You’ve taken a brown bag lunch
on which was writ another’s name.
All night it snows a blue snow
like the crystallized confessions
you’ve wrung from phantoms
even though it is you wearing the filched necklace,
your rages splitting the concrete like dandelions.
All that destruction from a ball of fluff!
There’s nothing left but hope.