There always is, man.
Ev’ry relationship.
Stuff we don’t wanna
own up to.

We ain’t the marlboro man.


That scent in the carpet?
Believe it’s urea.
Your rea? my rea?
Mens rea—had none,
asleep when I did it.
Makin me stomach-sick,
like bad barbecue.

Must’ve been on ambien.


There should be a presumption
against furniture:
if we don’t use it
it doesn’t exist.

Mother, come in and
save me like
a twister.


Storm kills twenty-seven,
epicenter Arkansas.

Avenues smattered
with broken trees,
mismatched tables,
and wet couches.

Is this price before tax
or against it?

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