I am never running empty, honestly,
but catching up is difficult, catching up to light-
light, that political, exquisite meal.

I have not puzzled out whether adding what
needs to be said must conform to what should be said.
My ideas are arbored, but they are also acetylene torched.
These unbitted days of rose cough up a pus
that evolves out of a naked trauma.

I wish someone served me my brain on a plate
with a ribbon tying it to a viral video.

Evaluation of faith in squares needs to be considered.
As a possibility. I am thinking in possibilities.
I am thinking I can live long enough to know
if I can live long enough to know

if I can change my taste, my raunchy grace.