Gall, of fortune but not of froth/
Wrath to be had in the river of time but not
Where it sits, naturally, decadently.
There is no awl or owl or whatthefuck in this river.
Swim a-shyly and dawn on the crest of the rabbit hole that you
Were a weed in the sunset drippings of my towellette
Don’t forget we met at the Sundance Festival.
Now, I know how it is to be a playful thing
No one wants to go where the natural sets in stead of the synthetic
Too drawn-out and loathsome to be meaningful
Tacks litter the landscape
Drool drips to the floor