Turns out I like living in a box. What’s your
sign, anyway? Can you shrink without
multi-tasking? Feels good and verbal,
doesn’t it? Which is why I like talking.
I think I finally got the crush of it. But
at bedtime? Not fair. And I can’t exactly
cry foul to a can of diet 7-Up, can I? Or is it
cosmopolitan now, like French socks on the roof
of your mouth? Quick, take your clothes off, it’s
the brand what sells. But then you might cry wolf
and smell a rat. Which is the exact opposite of
appetite. It’s not just sadness rules the air-
waves, right? That’s so neo-moronic.
Then he says something about how I’m a
bit too intense. Don’t crush it, Mister, I like
life. (I keep smiling at that, wondering what the
big deal is.) The sex in my mouth remains un-
pressed, which is okay, I guess. That’s why we go to
school for the future. It’s only human. If I actually had
the spare time to simply impress I’d come a whole lot more.
