Bradhere they all pretento exist? You're such a bore today. en your third ey
e. Maybe
you're just too hi. . Hey Brad
if you chuck me that
lighter I might yum you
yes Brad I ring bells and enjoy
caboose uh huh yup I swarm
macadamia mountain
and knock 'em all down
You are such a fucking ferret
Brad you are a ferret named Ms.
Ferret fuck you Brad I will
order a blue icee at the movies
if I want to I'll buy popcorn too
and I'll share I don't care I didn't
tell the big bang to happen
and my poems don't
exist for you Brad
Oh but your caverns
look so delicious so
divinely black and smoldering
and blue I don't want
you soggy in the sink
I want you all the way
down on me Brad will you
buoy me or at least
generic hug me
 
 
John
Tipping then flipping then
smashing into the café window
where the cat on Prozac
lounges in the sun,
the roller-derby size queen—I mean
a dream to work with, to access
the lost pulsing feeling with—
found an antidote
to the healing process:
canned beans and the wet
of the mud’s seeping through
my polyester! I was too
eager, and that’s a peach tea!
Take it slow now,
John. Take a breather.
I don’t care
if I finish
last. I just want to.