on-your-marks, get set, go.
It seems that perhaps how-becoming.
Oops, that's the deep end. 🤿
Beware, I am an unlicensed-poet.
What you are about to encounter
will question the integrity of your bowels for you.
Perhaps you will enjoy this untitled-piece of drooly drivel.
i-woke-up-today-hoping I could one day write a decent poem.
Until that day, until coyotes-run-these-streets, we'll just let-the-wave-crash-over-us.
Total shit like beltwar. I mean, what!?
There's one called wolftree-wagon that I almost surely didn't write.
More recently I've been ive-been-homeless-and-less.
And in case you didn't hear ding-dong-the-dream-is-dead.
Okay that one is quite a delight, but c'mon did I have to bring up vaccines?
Mask on, fuck it, mask off…
We gourmands of the heart and the nooks tend to take the shortest-path between i-like-yr-nope and f-it.
There are pieces that no one would dare to read twice like rams-bumping-uglily
and hundreds more like it, literally hundreds, as charming as organ-eyes.