The Normal Is
She’s like talking to a plate of lemon ice
leads to nothing but sheared streets and Shetland sweaters
the eyes won’t track properly there’s
something happening over there too Jay Gatsby
hung on a pier I’d rather go to Peru
get my heart broke in Cuzco for the elevation
as if I somehow just popped up I knew it
raised a monster but didn’t turn out right
all you do is shove somebody go away
screw your head on right reason for example
oodles of confusion and addled high times
usually parks her car on my dime why
do you think of stripes here? there’s no point
talking off the top of this nation of mistakes
whole hills of burlap and beaverboard plus other
tons of so far unlabeled whatever all the shades of vitriol
witness to the fall of youth and its dumbass regularity
the worst part of growing up is the rest of your life
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