Your drinking too much
is not as glamorous as they (the poets) thought (it)you was,
not as funny as
sitting in the middle of the road despite the approaching car
may be, Jetta though it is, haha-ing as a speeding train,
not even as effective as your going guts over brains
over barbed wire over depleted phone access
to friends and friend and ladyfriend you couldn't have
last winter, or previous winter, allwinters
exist in a contiguous line
of damning anti-poetry, not as infinite
as answering machines may be
when you are as sorry for yourself as
you are now, a dream in a loop
about doing maths, eating pi
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