because men get diagonal as crosswords, beaten to a pulp, haphazard, like mis-
shapen ventricles distilling a heart’s liquor, else something. it’s the economy.
to think of it, zero altitude, time allowed for the gravity of a seminal moment,
birthdays celebrating similar numbers ending in zero, we all fall prostrate
presiding the rise of the word ‘tandem’. i’m compliant, reading my paper in
warm socks with a feathering leafy sunlight drifting through the bay window.
you’re an archive of idiocy, so pure, stitched into a trinity of perspectives.
if i had a million bananas i would deflate your blimp for the drama of it,
whistling a medley not composed yet, goading the contemporary musicians,
who by the way are doing nothing to undermine the palpable corruption.
commas grow disused while our ranch keeps up its blustery business, herding,
roping, ra ra ra. the girl at the library counter, her stride enveloping worlds.
                                    feed a struggling village as people are often a-okay.