perfect poem has an infinitely small vocabulary
it’s difficult for me to muster enough
my magazines lie all over the floor and
your concerns about our problems are legitimate
but I have to close all the windows it’s
gotten too cold
we dance around whoever we are and all
the radios send me Happy Halloween-o-grams
about our problems the real issues could be
good together like putting a muzzle on the air
I did not say this and am happy about it
let me tell you that I know that we can
work things out into the ocean that Jack wants to
yell onto
seriously at giving it a try wholeheartedly
the mountain that I climbed would have to
bring me poundcake or because I can feel
no no no
I can do the love you have for me I can
try eliminating the love because you have me to
