hated late early 1990's cartoons about rats and ninjas.
He preferred the the early 1990's cooking shows about rock candy
and dating: "Singled Out," "The Lil' Bits," and re-runs of "The Maury Povich Show."
After pausing for a quick break, Fluffy
can you restart your motor?
Can you turn around?
In a roundabout way, yes, we've all done it.  But I'm still standing face-forward.
I'm still giving a standing ovation to the man in the maroon dress.
Question: How WTC are you?
How do you intend on recuperating from that particular instance?
(Castration no longer a viable option).
He chooses life, and a thin night sky
it always makes me nervous, so I hiccup, hiccup, sometimes a small poot
but I always say excuse me and so I am excused
and so are you.  Unfortunately,
this morning's sun is rising green, not red
or crimson.  My blood smells like fish.
I carry their bones, like silt, beneath the curve of my shell.
Thier cries soft and shallow
like bees.
Or unlike bees, because bees care about what happens to you and me.
Or do they?  Do they make honey simply to catch you against their hives?
But maybe you would like that small space
away from me.
Half a shell is no excuse.