you are my second-hand seashell,
lest I not forget.

Your class-line caricatures
are more sour
than the merum
of Trimalchio.

sweet sleep, I know you
the way that a blind man is
said to know the moon.

the axis of this wobbly planet is
predisposed to too many tilts to tell
when this apeirogon answer will show.

pockets of paper
and prosthetic  posture:
and
it
all
fell
down.

"Yellow lines brighter than the sun,
red stop-signs more vibrant than adam's apple,
grass green across all sides of the fence."

You were white vinyl  and opposite asphalt.
a cardboard cutout
is no place to live.