the twisted rubber band brought her back to the spring days
and that old house dress she, according to her data, wore exactly one year ago
she lost her car keys again this morning, and picked up smoking for the fifth time
(for her sore throat, if we're making excuses)
her friends have heard that story with the painkillers and pee wee herman two hundred forty-seven times
yes sir, the snake is still chewing on his scaly asshole
and his green semen falls in recycling triangles
communication patterns with her mother are set in a stone boulder
that rolls down the hill unless she pushes is up again
and to be honest, she has no directions for you
so lest she repeat herself
she suggests we should all subdermally implant tomtoms
to deliver us from aimless
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