Now fido's drunk and barking Frost: "I swung
by rope from roads less traveled by / Where chrome
and rubber tumble / Under Russian thistles.
Something's burning I'm 98.6 percent an ape,
An apple isn't ontologically
A worm. July 15: I chew my nails to quicks
(my kindness killed them. I
commune from lips to toilet, meekly paying
while shitting someone's dinner down the drain.
Adjoining stalls. I need my space. I'm losing
I speak as though my dog can understand
American. We're breeding like a caterpillar
uncoiling. She mates for life, drunk
and idling, idling, idling.
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