Don't throw it out. Change it. It changes.
Without modern logic how could anything?
Sometimes I just want to get right up into your face.
Complex enough as to merit a few footnotes.
Stevie is a real Hunk in Slander.
When you inadvertently loop your black shoelace around one of the wheels of your deskchair, you'll have to tip it over to retrieve yourself. And say, "Damn, damn."
How could anyone even think could know God?
And there's Joe Brainard getting a laugh. Then no more Joe.
No more Rick, Calvin, Dave. No more Keith or Ricky. No more Bob.
Like we need sifting. And heartlessly. To find our tongues on ours.
For new rites of Scant Approval. Unlike some
Who need a long runway. Likely too long.
Who insists on writing tiny poems in a cupboard.
No hey that was precious little me in there.
Or of SUVs linting up the frozen parking lot. Without compassion there's
White. & Flailing. A flailure even.
Of measured. White. In piles of.
All dappling. These dapples of.
Flung words. If wings in low light.