Sometimes I just look around all at the filth and marvel.
Go back to your dairy farm. We're all blond
breaking our heels running away from mass murders.
We're too related to ignore it. We don't think
about Canada. Everything else that is not this mass of just one thing.
I don't know what's right to say anymore.
I don't want to get her a birthday present.
That is not an A paper. Man he cannot stop
talking before you get here. Raisins, darkness.
You are poo-poo. We all know I might be stupid,
carrying an argument to its logical conclusion.
It's the rule: crushing of the imagination.
The vulnerability of the psychoanalyzed people!
There are deer in Cincinnati.
I don't know how to deal with the backyard, but
you have to have concepts to get out of bed in the morning:
"We like to plant flowers." "Where's your stapler?"
"Where's your boyfriend?" "His truck is pink."
Don't think they won't haunt you until the day you die.
It's either dogs or sword-fighting. Such a blown-up area.
Think of the silence: If the Earth is destroyed
it won't make much difference in the larger cosmos.
Author Discusses Poems