Once I met a wild boar. She was a rescue.
I mean she is, her name is Fancy.
I wonder if anyone will ever say my name in a poem.
The only god I worship is the one that makes
the future tense conditional, like work experience.
You have to have a job to get a job.
It would be hard to work in.
The ruin of the Penitentiary
offered more square feet per person
and fewer years per foot
than any current super-max industrial
"facility" with language, but experiment with telling
tour groups that and some of them will hate you
like you just put their shoes on backwards for them.
Time expands some ways. You know which ones I mean.
Like a haunted house is supposed to be filled
with the ghosts of white men.
Like, "don't fuck this up for us."