Meeting at the River / Gall of Fortune to Hit

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, now…

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

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