the letter writing campaign sticks in
your craw. you have issues.
the moon was not blue, and
it can’t be elected. you find
theories to be escape clauses,
holes into that tumbling place
where upside down is right as
rain. now admit you’ll vote
for the least viable candidate, preferring
the usual surcharge over
what’s in the bed tonight. okay.
let’s discuss this, and your
apparent good nature in the
face of time, now being
after midnight, with all the
possible significance of that.
you are truly just as you
are, not marvelous in a
holding pattern way but
stricken by the bargain
you could make, daily,
thru exchange. times are rough
and straddled, stapled in
place. love is an entertaining
word.
