I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF
I pay my art so well, it massacres fill-ins.
Yeah, all you twenty-something hotties comprehend
Deaths of notable animals is esophageal cancer.
From Leopardi comes a remedial no man's land.
From Peret comes mayonnaise ice ages.
Biological lifeforms wage sages too slow to load.
I swell my roots to reveal the twin beneath my skull:
Bohemia and bad sex and worse TV.
He bowls half a porcupine lip in my half-grave.
About me, there's not much to say.
I move through the world with an unearthly freedom from attachment
While belonging to the profound process of change.