ask your Brooklyn neighbor
and his Spotify playlist.
Ask 2006, that foul, wonderful year.
I am as lost
in the back of the fridge,
business by bullshit.
hurt my thighs
and make my eyes
want to move to somewhere like San Diego.
Wherever there are ignorant saints
is where I want to learn,
burn Twitter and be better,
make breakfast for dinner.
With that anti-G class,
comes a lot of poetic probabilities,
but zero anxious possibilities,
and that is where I want to be forgotten.