each day you wake wishing that what is, is not, and that’s no way to live.
the owl refuses to dispense any wisdombut has a few questions of its own:
the ogre of gratitude dangling like a chandelier from the rearview mirror asks ifyou know how lucky you are, if you’ve meditated on that yet, if your heart
My therapist says a boy with a secretis easy to control. I wonder howSteve learned mine, if I told him
in exchange for a public chance at a longer private life, you give themnot your body, but your body’s one error in calculation. the swerve,
At just the age the unconsciouscheerleader was []by four football players,I suspect I was []by Steve.
She’d gathered ramps in the woods, although she found them A hyperbole of the food world, an over-priced scallion
With a finish of garlic scapes. But finding them in the forest, He thought, and picking them with her strong hands,
Steve, though he’d cut youif you crossed him, drop you like a sackof potatoes if you came at him drunklike Randy Parr in the backyard,
This is the year strangerswill say terrible things
about you