—Frank Kuenstler
The tabloids started drinking again,
trolling around for lays.
A wreath
came home and took a shower.
This
is the story of dearth.
They’d gotten over it
or worked it all out until the smooch-out
with a crush. The
wrecking ball was
slightly stunned by that one. He kind of
creeps me out. He’s a
brand whore.
Can you listen to the checkbook
on my back? I love
his work, though,
moodwise. I’m not
always down.
In fact, I’m predominantly up.
