Haven’t caught a cantankerous cold in a long while
– chipped my tooth on a Zoom call, though.
I am envious of Sam’s Brooklyn poem
– just a scorpio missing home.
Can’t use the word persnickety in a sentence with a straight face
– not everything is about the risk of sex and death.
Always wanted to date someone who could cut hair
– then I’d always have a fresh fade.
My sickness is lies I tell myself
– like this isn’t forever or rather the middle of it.
My crimes are love, impatience, stubbornness
– I’ll go fishing but I ain’t touching the catch.
The internet delivers all sorts of funny fates
– if she plays the fiddle, I am hers.
However, I don’t do much scheming these days
– just sitting on cornerstones confronting failures.
Without forgetting certain songs or sessions
– for good or ill, I remain intense in these misdemeanors.
Ailing away qualified days
– I’m ready to get better with a jury of witnesses on my throwing hand.