I’m not awful. I represent.
Weather forecast in San Francisco on
Thanksgiving Day: Sunny, high 68F,
low 49F. Are you addicted to
frequent flyer miles?
What a chill we’re in. Your ice blue eyes
thaw me out. What a chill to be unliving.
The premise: an erection of pacts; a
hard gourd; candy for the rest of us;
sending it all via fax; causes a
paper jam; grammarian quits.
Are you involved? Get naked
and soak for about 30 minutes.
Doing yoga? It’s rainy, yet
pleasant, peaceful. You’re
gushing like a sloped pool.
Me, I’m down with clocking
a time-warp in a sitz bath full
of potted plants. Come quickly!
That’s the real deceit. And
such a marvelous hometown!
