Allegory, or, unexpectation sucks

One goddamn piece?

For the last three months, that's it, & a half-scribbled-in-class one at that. Even a serious post-witching hour carcass pick didn't salvage such poemetrick shit.

Perhaps a revisitation, a reghosting, a reapparitioning. Let's go with reghosting; the latter sounds too fiscally gerrymeandering to which Jake says ewww.

If only marrow was recyclable & nothing more than a quick snack for the ghoul on the go or a key ingredient in either compost or barbarian stew.


I do know what happens when I mix acids & bases, the same thing that happens when blood & brain aren't siphoned off by stanza & paragraph.

If only spontaneous combustion was a contest.

First prize is $500 & a year's supply of melodrama.

$500, you say?

Melodrama, you say?

If only an if only.

Yeah, these guys again, this time with some old Oldham. It's cold [ed. note: slightly cooler that it has been, but I'm ever th'eternal optimist], overcast [ed. note: shit, that's the sun, innit], & nothing's better than these dour Swedes for hoodie weather, but I'm certainly open to suggestions that I'll immediately ignore.

Put that in your pipe & mope it.