GAUZE WEAVE IN WHITE, NUMBER 018

In that ever shortening interval of praise
Between some classic bad feels and doing
Wrong, just have to ask, ever meet someone
About whom every single thing annoys you?

These huge earphone spectacles and prairie
Dog stares, these big hat bleached teeth
Selfies with beach volleyball players
Make a correction of many medias necessary.

So, upon visiting Machu Pichu in 1994
You decide not to wait out the latter days
Which p.s., means you don’t have to leave
Your home and its exotic foliage resembling

Palm trees with oversized parrots printed in
Neon pink and varnished green for the ice
Mountain ranges of Pluto. Now, say what?
What’s with this talk of home, the possibility

Of some land, brighter roads and fewer
Aggressive drivers, a Midwestern conservatism
So much ultra-local craft beer and cleaner air
A more precise view of the dysfunctional body

The new regulation of artificial intelligence
Drums in the basement, volunteer opportunities
New modes of victimization in the Imperial
A better job at the textual uranium mill?

It comes down to this: do you dream of the
Alligator or the crocodile? Neither, never?
Maybe you dream of relatively clean rivers.
Then, you dream of Hurtland, USA.

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