Standing next to a frozen radiator I
punish your lips with a spell of
cat feces and mercury hocus pocus.
Did it not become apparent that
synergies between circles and
45-degree angles would bankrupt a
nation of squirrels? Into a
tawdry spiral your flummoxed gyrations spin,
pivoting on dimes spent needlessly on
outsized barrels of caffeine and camaradarie.
I listen to your steps,
inching as they do toward
harrowing oblivion.
Outfoxed destinies circle your phone number with rain.
Don’t leave sewers unattended, warned the quarryman.
Rivers rise surprisingly steep under
ecumenical pressure from imposter popes.
Deadbeat dog walkers transambulate oceans,
picking at slivers of food lodged between political idealogues.
