Enid prefers uncircumcised dicks.
Sam doesn't know how the DMV works.
Abby may be sick.
We are all dying.
Jenna's in the background.
The baby looks fake.
Kate has her panties in a bunch.
The Yankees are on in the living room.
Swinging permaculturalist musicians.
Broken picture frames.
Post podcast interviews.
Waterloo sparkling water.
This poem and that note.
This pen and that phone.
Cut it out.
Slice it off.
See you in hell, dad.
Y'all crazy kooks.
Consider the ibis in my backyard.
Consider 'Consider the Lobster' by David Foster Wallace.
Before and after rain.
The day dries differently with brevity.
Over the atmosphere of happy hour with teeth.
These currently-reading self-care phonies behind me.
They don't know how to be eaten by life.
And let in the "disorientation" and love 'em.
The guy in front of the Pride parade.
Is a Mohel in real life.
It's all real life.
We just have to compartmentalize it.
I do it, too.
I did it all week.
And all last week.
How do you separate yourself from yourself?
I slice myself in half.
And then chop my fucking heart into pieces with a hatchet.
Leaving some in LA, some in NYC.
Some in mouths, some in list poems.
Some in people, some in risks.