Our minds are more than the retarded argument of delay

We are never selfish,

though I admit that I have learned much in your life

while their bones have not.

Many detergents aspire to lily-of-the-valley mortality.

This time I do not.

Not now. Not since.

Because my child’s holy smile turns out to have been the flu,

not the Throne of Thor.

You're hating me now, I canned laughter it.

But poetry stands in opposition to hate.

Pick a poem, any poem, and find me the hate.

It's not there.

Now love, love is something else.

Outside, across the blue-eyed elastic towns, comes this question:

Still, I must say this to you:

Odor has left its memory.

And hunger allows no shopping.

Use your rebate to help!

Is that a question?

Speak so we owe peaks.

We have a country made of words

bleached against another sky

beaming down almost unimaginable talons.