is a polarizing, stepped-on chicken patty in a bun,
breaded flatworm of nostalgia

Restless and ready as ever for my night’s walk
to his pleasurable lap. You would think by now,
his Antarctic heart would adapt
to the burning zeal of my wandering hands.

A string of tinsel killed my cat.
My grandma was to blame.

And it
should come as
no great surprise
Isaac Newton said,
“I find I now
prefer to sit beneath.”
pear trees.

a well trained baboon
could kick our ass at most sports