a concept: don't

I reached out to Samantha,

but her mom got me a garden,

and assumed my middle name.

I made my way to Kentucky,

but I got kicked in the dick

by Dale & Pat.

I went back and forth to Florida,

but hated the heat 

and made love and made enemies. 

I snuck into Manhattan

and got too drunk

to even perform for my fire friends.

I wrote this poem

two years ago

and none of it is true.

I went back to Montreal
and cried my spleen,
but figured out some shit.

I will eat a burger tonight

and think of inspiration,

and maybe delete this whole shit.