Go sandpaper a horse.
—John Ashbery
He blew his nose into what?
A ham sandwich, you say?
Not a single day goes by
but there’s a whole week
of ’em. A month, even.
Years later, we get a
closer look. But staring
at humanity through a
microscope is enough to
make a fella upchuck his
lunch in a pathetic lurch.
Quiet on the set! That’s
what needed to be said,
at any rate past around
mid-volume. Voluminous
days. Days that make one
gorgeous. As if. Those
were the days. The days
of what? Or that’s what
Toupee Harry wondered.
