Parade of Malfeasance
When I was young,
32 years ago,
I wanted to be a poet with a crap life.
I just want a couch with springs that won't jam into our asses
in ways we don't desire.
It's a hot verve filled with residency requirements,
funeral rites, registration fees,
and out of body experiences
so intense we forget our license must be renewed
in order to continue making the kind of living not suitable for children.