A Landfill or Never-Ending Boat Ride
Into my asparagus, I cried a new vinegar
No one knows this salad
Only I make it
At the world’s smallest table
Like a lunch vault
There is no room for more
Failure is full
World’s Saddest Furniture
It’s so clever how they set up these beds
With little bars on the sides
A man arrives and puts it together like he’s done it 10 trillion terrible times
He’s young and probably working for his family
Drives all day to set up and take down the world’s saddest furniture
Violent Health
At work I plant hemlock trees in the swamp
My pencil rolls off the desk, lodges in the carpet and grows lead branches
Staples slip through cracks in the drawers
Then there are little metal lily pads
Pens develop spiny leaves and turn the water dark
I flick erasers off the sides of my desk so there are white magnolias
My shoe splashes under my chair
My elbow nudges a stack of post-its
They scatter into a hundred hot yellow paper ducks
Every day I take a canoe and the birds help me row
Wine for Dinner
This is my specialty
I call it Delicious
Bridget Jones
Bukowski
It is a glass of excuses
Tastes like glitter
I make it like this:
Open
Pour
Recover
This Is Just to Say
Those pens were mine
Before I stole them
Same as the files and paper clips
Just because you are cheap
Does not mean you won’t pay people what they’re worth
You’ll just have expensive enemies
Who simply take without asking
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