My favorite people
are the ones who
do the things
that I don't
want to do

The girl who thinks Tuesday is "almost Friday"
bakes in her room like a milk-crate left for Phoenix dead.

Nobody's knocking
but nobody's thinking.
How do we know that the fly loves its life on the web
if we've only consulted the spider?

How do we document
a Grecian revival of a Spanish writer.

The fresh snow hits the ground
it blends together with the dirt
the kind of dirt that comes from
a economically defunct college town
it kind of looks like ice cream
but don't eat it.

If that's so true
I'll take part
in the part
that doesn't
take part