if i weren’t sitting here writing you poems
i would be outside putting ribbons on car antennas
i would be telling people at the airport
about the benefits of cattle futures
i would be rotating crops
i would be instigating unnecessary grievances to alleviate the lonely of there boredom, and replace it with anxiety, so as to exhaust them and allow them sleep.
i would be communing with geese
i would petition to rename pumpernickel as mud bread, and then claim the name pumpernickel as my own
i would find new and exciting auto parts to lick
i would pass the duchy to the right
deal with it you rasta fucks
if i weren’t sitting here right you poems
i would be bathing with the pope
i would be languishing with defeated Mongol warriors
i would be sewing it shut tighter for a rich mans wife