.
In this
asphalt
halitosis,
growing tired
of my kind

noting doltish
bovine, influence
as drivers of despair,

I fair
impossibly


To think
my smaller feeling
called the villagers
to prayer,

two hundred
miles East of here
In wealds of hop and apple..

How
I wring these
calloused grapples, well,

aware of my atrocities

confiding to be someone else,

sometime away from this