Never-me Slandeh

To be a reclusive white communist
close with a female communist white friend.

I watched them about a year ago from today
and hope I don't run into them tonight.

In fifty minutes. Also the other he fell in love with
this guy's work. He found it randomly while scrolling across
the landscape and it was a digital rendezvous.

"The problem with you is that you never finish
a single project." That's right, I didn't pay
attention and now I can't make goals. Workshops
are the types you dismiss at the backslap of a hand.

I need money and will be homeless to get it.

Pray that you're given the brass band five-star
stud-knuck this time. Or pray that you aren't.
The alleyway is where supermoves are invented.
But nobody thinks about these things at the time.

I've got a Cuban Vision now. I met a Dominican today.
I think about necrophiles all the time. And child rapists.
I bite my tongue when I think of attrocities. I eat so much candy.
This coffee tastes like it has sugar in it:
it's sweet and from Switzerland and the packaging
is yellow but not from age. It's probably a fungus.

Or a dye. The kind you use to roll fabric in.