My life in the choke garden
spreads and wants as far north as the panhandle.
I beg for someone new and amazing and
just not so sarcastic
to come in
to break the mold around the placemats
where the blue frenches smell the goths and
hornrimmed girls for
what they really are
when they’re posing naked in Oregon
on behalf of those assuming their
ideas alone
are worth the world.

This might’ve been the perfect night for the starpools
to come down licking our coma burns.
Better you than me.

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