drunk on your, what?
in my bed under
the covers, singing
"push came to shove!"
fingers said, "glove,
isn't an obvious fit
enough, must we
wait for signs above?"
so we took a long trip together,
all around the department store,
a sterile commerce smell led
us away from cosmetics to the
clearance-rack alternate futures
appropriate for any budget,
but, i'm
drunk on stale beer
in my basement, we're
connected and seeing
HD and maybe never clear
one and two dear
see them graze the back
yard at a safe distance
for one or four years
could we sudden auctioneers
willing volunteers
callous racketeers
steadfast pioneers
be sick with what we engineered?
nausea-bounce stomachs, we
pound the pavement,
increasingly cavalier
convincingly sincere
could i just talk
with my lips for a second?
no -- wait, maybe, see,
what did i mean by that?
do you know what
i know you know?
come over
make this stanza twenty-three lines long
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