less than
the upsurge of bitter bile

yesterday’s failure
rides his chariot
like blank abyss

because what is money for if not love?
and what is money for if not emotional connection?

and every day spurns a tilt
of forgetting why
we’re together at all

“hey dad i think you treat mom like ****”
“what are you talking about remember that time she left you at the mall”
“i don’t see what that has to do with your own personal conduct”
“ask her about it sometime”

why would i ever want to be
spilt tea across the cloth
on a main street in
mise en abyme
south d

“it’s idiots like your mother who are running the world into the ground”
my mother is a stay at home wife.