cclxxii

“Chocolate rocks
like dirt,” says
Overheard in
Latent’s wings.
“Eating a lesbian
pizza with Kirk
Douglas beats
poetry with Jello.”
That’s enough
chill to don a
jacket—the joy
of wearing jeans,
a loose sweater
full of lies.  “Wy
oming?”  I start
to crying.  “We
have to talk,” 

Herc says.  “Bad
moon.”  “Good
coffee.”  “Take
care” by “sucking
guns w/Robert
Mitchum.”