It’s not worth mentioningthat in the middle of MonopolyI pulled a cherry cough drop from my pocketeven though he had declined. Tough

These hips chime like a wordy clock; I mock some god with symmetry and blackened feet. Prophet of Christ, of wet, bend

cross the isthmus in time. i’ve uncorked the bottleneck for bottomless brunch & they’ve declined  the dashing—limbs torpedoed moments prior to repose—while

Arachnida God sent a web, its filaments a hymn of deception, a net of mercy to save the prophet from his enemies.

I come to this place when sentiments arise that I can’t revive in polite conversation. Like when The Wanderer comes on the