a theme of the halloween
party: volunteer
rodeos: 4 long-haired women
dressed like Ferdinand the Bull; someone’s red
coffee table costume waiting 15
minutes before bounding up and shouting
toro! I admit
my wine was among
the carpet stains but it seemed I wasn’t
really at fault. yes that is the wind and
porchlight
doing that to my hair. yes that guy knew
way too much about cathedral acoustics. we arrived
shitfaced and finding our sweatshirts
covered in tinsel; we agreed
the idioms of our generation seem mostly
comprised of only similes
& bad words. I’m selfish
as fuck; I’m so selfish
I would poop
in your cookbook. I’m bored as
balls; I’m so bored I’d
bake poop
in your bread pan. it’s appalling
anyone could keep a goldfish that alive
that long. pray for my shadowy
pinky illumined in this light of the water filter. in
saunters Ferdinand’s torso. in grow the myriad
daisies & Leah shows up late, drunk, dressed, she
says, as another sack of
thoughts to go bandying, another jar of
jerks to decide I am. she tells me the scene
of your soul
run down by a vespa appears
on belt buckles & all over Portland. your fortune
is gapped like a storm window; your providence
was October and ending
for good.
