crushing dabs
like Brits with ****
ragging on the braggarts
for being *******
mastering fascism
like I’m in a classroom  
learning to bridegroom
and lower the boom
eating shrooms
faster than a pig truffling
feathers ruffling
feet shuffling
feeling the scruff again
as I rub my chin
and I begin mashing the rascals
and stashing the raffle wins
like at Bingo hassling
the troll doll queen
bout to bring this to a ring
and sing to all ya’ll songs
of wax and things…..

Quiet.
And Spring-like.
That’s how I’d describe it,
the smell.
Nose poking through door like
a dog,
pulling in soft air and the faintest
whiff of a Marlboro light.

So quiet.
And calm.
Hard to believe it,
the uncertainty.
Nose poking through door like
a truffling pig,
wafting in pillows of anxiety that
taste just like Tuesday.