Ragbag Wax Wane
Share what I eat. Lofi hip hop
crackle. Warm, openhanded,
two pillars. Contented dancer,
ciphering. Track partway knotty.
Pothole awkward jostle. My
automobile is bruised. A friable
lump. Multifront, ample ache.
Stomach, tooth, door, computer.
Instance I forget a list objective,
humph, oiled opportunity absconds.
Pump gas; arm, leg, arm, leg.
Damnable video starts blaring.
Unskippable advertisement, creepy
man showing a luxury armageddon
bunker he bought, purloined,
whichever. Claptrap drags
irritatingly. He’ll sell me an
entrance ticket. He certainly
would, I firmly repudiate. They
want Mars, we need us.