—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
lost its 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.
But mood-wise, I’m not always down.
In fact, I’m predominantly up.
