Disinterested Missive
Like walking into the fog of hairspray. Walk
into another dimension (too many channels,
20 new posts).
You lie! I AM thinking of two things at once!
The pre-existing West Coastness of the poet
and the fog.
I am West Coast hairspray fog.
Baked salmon is not a metaphor.
Do you think I can handle that particular choice?
Cleanse (lather, rinse, repeat) only by choice.
I pick the coast of no coast
(this fiction).
Lastly, walk INTO the alarm. Grab
the bag and bake like a
dead metaphor.
